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{LIBRARY OF CONGRESS.* 

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A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 



CYNTHIA BULLOCK. 



PRINTED BY J. A. GRAY, 95 & 97 CLIFF, COR. OF FRANKFORT ST. 



1852. 



KflOSa RDD©M©[L^© ©HAM, 

Whose Christian kindness enabled me to publish 

iBg JFtrst 3LittU TTolumz, 

and filled the heart of a lonely orphan ^vith gladness, 

and "v^hose presence ever diffuses 

joy among the memhers of our Institution, 

I gratefully 

DEDICATE THESE HUMBLE PAGES. 



CYNTHIA BULLOCK. 



New- YorJc % Nov., 1852. 



PREFACE 



"We should constantly remember, in perusing the following simple 
poems, that their authoress is blind. 2sot one who has once seen, 
and in her childish years looked on the forms of nature, which she 
loves, kindled to brightness, and outlined by living light and bathed 
in beauteous colors, and so enriched her fancy by the images of 
vision. She has never seen. To one born blind, the ear and fingers 
perform the office of the eye. Of a world of ideas, another's narra- 
tive, another's description, is the sole substitute for her own obser- 
vation and experience. Judge what conception can be formed of 
colors by one who lacks the sense to which alone color is addressed. 

If we did not know by how many ingenious associations the 
blind assist their understanding — blue sky being the crown of fair 
weather, and a medium of electric gladness and elastic health ; 
green fields symbolizing vernal freshness, summer softness, rural 
rest ; red radiating fire and courage ; black representing weeds of 
woe and midnight gloom — that they should be able to speak of 
hues and light with any degree of accuracy would be an insoluble 
enigma. Light and color are, to the blind, mysteries toward which 
their curiosity yearns, as our faith speculates of unseen angels or 
heaven's mansions and rewards. The remembrance of this pecu- 

i* 



VI PREFACE. 

liarity will explain why the interesting writer of these poems should 
speak of God as in the lines : 

"Thrice happy they who in the spring-time yield 
Their hearts to Him at whose command H was light ;" 

or why talk with untired delight of radiance, brightness, glory, and 
effulgence. 

Besides the difficulties in the way of a just appreciation of colors, 
a blind person is embarrassed at almost every step of her literary 
progress by hindrances which do not occur to others. If you are 
composing stanzas, or writing a speech or a tale, and doubt of the 
meaning or proper application of a word — of the accuracy of your 
dates, facts, rules, descriptions — you have but to open a prosody or 
lexicon, biography or cyclopedia, and the needed information is 
disclosed to your two seeing eyes. ISTot so with our authoress, or 
any enduring the same sad privation. She needs a living, human 
volume near her, or that secondary aid which wealth commands, 
or she must rely on the occasional offices of benevolence, or be 
endowed with a prodigious memory. What barriers to literary or 
industrial labors, whether pursued for pleasure, fame, gain, or holy 
charity ! 

Various useful and religious works have, indeed, been printed in 
raised characters for the blind, who read the words with their fin- 
gers. These works, however, are comparatively few, necessarily 
bulky, and, because of an especial kind of type, too expensive to 
be, to any great extent, in the private possession of the blind who 
require them. Miss B. has been indebted to students of the Epis- 
copal Theological Seminary, and other friends, for writing down 
her compositions as she dictated them from memory. She makes 
repeated mention of these acts of kindness. But any person familiar 
with the process of composing, and particularly of writing verses, 
will understand how great the advantage of being able to commit 
to paper, for preservation or correction, the passages interrupted 



PREFACE. Vll 

from day to day, and how immense the labor of bearing them, in 
fragments or in whole, in the memory, through all delays and in- 
terruptions. 

Such thoughts disarm our criticism where seeming haste has 
marred the rhythm or measure of a line, or left some link of fancy 
loose. Our authoress is endowed with the feeling and fancy of a 
poet, and so answers the classic maxim — a poet is bom, not manu- 
factured. Being a native of the Muses' realm, she will doubtless 
grow in time, like other good subjects, obedient to the Muses' laws, 
nor deem a strict compliance with the canons of versification use- 
less drudgery. Meanwhile, ye women of taste and men of means, 
ye sons and daughters of beneficence, if ye find here skill or genius 
in the bud, pray nurse it with your silver patronage, and help it to 
unfold. "Who knows what sweetness it may some day yield, if fitly 
cherished ? Our songstress has an artist's element within her ; she 
speaks in numbers because she loves the language of melody, and 
paints poetic pictures because she loves the images her inner eye, 
alas ! alone can see. She works, too, in her orphanage, not solely 
from a selfish motive, but, like the best of you, is inspired by a 
beneficent design, by the ambitious hope of doing sacred deeds. 

Editor. 



CONTENTS. 



PREFACE.... 

INTRODUCTORY VERSES— To a Friend 13 

MY LITTLE BIRD 15 

TO MY PARENTS 16 

THE WAVE OF MERCY 17 

MY MOTHER'S GRAVE 18 

EARLY RECOLLECTIONS OF MY CHILDHOOD 20 

EVENING THOUGHTS 26 

SINGING OF THE FRAZER FAMILY 28 

ON RECEIVING A BOUQUET 29 

AFFECTION'S FLOWERS— From " Friends by the Way" 31 

FALLING OF THE DINNER-POT , 33 

MUSIC THE GIFT OF ANGELS TO MEN 35 

PHILHARMONIA 37 

ON MR. DEMPSTER'S SECOND VISIT 39 

A FRAGMENT . 41 

THE VOICE OF FLOWERS 43 

LINES TO MR. EDWARD WOOD 45 

ANNIVERSARY ADDRESS, 1848 ,... 46 

BOYS' DIALOGUE , , , , 48 

GIRLS' DIALOGUE , «.... 51 

HOPE ., 53 

TO STUDENTS OF PROT. EPISC. THEOL. SEMINARY 55 

THE BANKS OF THE RHINE 57 

ADDRESS AT CONCERT FOR CHURCH OF HOLY APOSTLES. 58 

THOUGHTS ON THE SEASONS 60 

SONG OF THE NEW YEAR.. 68 

THOUGHTS WHISPERED TO A FRIEND ~ 70 

PASCUA FLORIDA— To Rev. A. Bloomer Hart 71 

WELCOME TO A CHIEF 73 

INDIAN WIDOW'S DREAM 74 

THE RETURN 76 

REASONS WHY I DO NOT DRrNK 78 

HOLY BIBLE.. 80 



X CONTENTS. 

HEBREWS XL 21 81 

IN MEMORIAM— Rev. Dr. Croswell 83 

"I KNOW THAT MY REDEEMER LIVETH" 85 

DEATH OF REV. DR. BELLOWS' CHILD 87 

LINES TO REV. J. W. MACOMBER 89 

CONFLAGRATION OF CHURCH IN PL ATTSBURG 91 

KEY OF CONTENT— To Miss Swetland .. 93 

CORNELIA'S EIGHTEENTH YEAR 96 

THE JOY OF MEETING WITH MY OLD FRIENDS 97 

TO MY YOUNG FRIEND, HENRY 99 

ALICE, MY OLD SCHOOL-MATE 100 

TO THE MISSES B , 102 

TO MISS FRANCES CROSBY 103 

TO ELLEN V. WALLACE 104 

HON. THOMAS HERTELL 105 

BERTH-DAY OF MR. FLOYD SMITH 107 

ON THE DEATH OF MR. RITTER < „ 108 

A MEMENTO— To Mr. G. Hart 110 

A TRIBUTE TO HAWICK 112 

VERSES FOR AN ALBUM 113 

THE POWER OF A SISTER'S LOVE 114 

ON THE DEATH OF HENRY CLAY 122 

TO MARGARET 123 

TO A FRIEND WITH A VIOLET 124 

TO MISS ANNA SMITH 126 

REST ON THE ROCK 128 

TO MY MOTHER rN HEAVEN , 130 

RENUNCTATEON OF THE WORLD 132 

HAPPY THOUGHTS 133 

LINES WRITTEN ON NEW-YEAR'S EVE 134 

TO AN ONLY DAUGHTER 135 

FRIENDSHIP'S WHISPER TO A BRIDE 137 

GERMANY , 138 

MUSINGS ON A JEWISH PASSOVER 140 

TO C. A. J 141 

OUR LAST RESTING-PLACE 142 



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INTRODUCTORY VERSES. 

When the cares of day are over, 
And the young, contending, hover 

Kound their reverend sire ; 
When the latest bird of even 
Sings its farewell lay to Heaven, 

Friendship tunes her lyre. 

From the depths of soul upspringing, 
Tender memory, fragrance flinging, 

Halcyon days brings back ; 
Happy hours that pass too fleetly, 
Throng with love's own music sweetly 

Kound life's thorny track. 
2 



14 A BUNCH OF PALSIES. 

In the dim, dim twilight kneeling, 
"When the tide of holy feeling 

Gusheth up to God, 
May our thoughts, like sunbeams blending, 
In one mutual prayer ascending, 

Reach His dear abode. 

Love hath found a fragrant blossom ; 
May it in thy gentle bosom 

Ever sweetly bloom : 
Loving eyes of friendship smiling, 
Eveiy earth-born care beguiling, 

Cheer life's passing noon. 

As the red light fading, fading, 
Leaves a holier calm pervading 

All the peaceful earth, 
So may gentle words oft spoken — 
Holy deeds — a blessed token 

Leave of priceless worth. 



A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 15 



MY LITTLE BIED. 

One day, while trying to concentrate my thoughts on an interest- 
ing snbject, the singing of my little bird, of which I am very fond, 
won my attention, and prompted the following lines : 

Thou call'st me from ambition's dream, 

From thoughts that wear the taint of earth, 

From fancy's bright and airy beam, 
To list thy song of artless mirth. 

Thy song of mirth, O joyous bird ! 

Breaks with Aurora's gushing light, 
Is with the sio*h of evenmo* heard, 

When veils the sun his radiance bright. 

I sometimes deem that thou hast flown 
With birds in amaranthine bowers, 

And caught their melody of tone 
To cheer this lonely world of ours. 

Love dwells for thee in every flower, 

In fertile vale and gurgling rill ; 
On zephyr's breath in sorrow's hour 

It sheds a perfume round thee still. 

Then call me from ambition's dream, 

From thoughts that wear the taint of earth, 

From fancy's bright and airy beam — 
I love thy song of artless mirth. 



16 A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 



TO MY PARENTS. 

Mother ! affection's priceless gems 

I bring to thy acceptance now ; 
More lovely than the dappled morn, 

The smile that plays upon thy brow. 

More sweet thy voice, when sickness laid 

Its touch upon my infant frame, 
Than the heart's low, mellifluous tones, 

When breathing love's enchanting name. 

And, father ! I remember well 

How duly on each Sabbath-day 
Thou led'st me to the house of prayer, 

Where faith, with bright and quenchless ray, 

Burned on, like holy fire from heaven, 

And chased from doubting souls their fears, 

And taught the heart, though desolate, 
On Christ to cast its woes and cares. 

The morn of life is passing by, 
The sombre eve is hastening fast ; 

Mine be the grateful task to strew 
Your paths with pleasure to the last. 

I would not be ambition's boast ; 

More dear a mother's smile of love, 
More precious than the warrior's wreath 

The deeds my father can approve. 



A BUNCH OF PAHSIES. 17 



THE WAVE OF MERCY. 

As we went down to bathe, the tide was receding from the Rock- 
away shore, and we were drawn by the nnder-tow far into the 
ocean. Long and fruitlessly, till hope was abandoned, we strug- 
gled with the billows, when, by the force of a mighty waye, we 
were cast on shore. I haye called this waye the wave of mercy, 
and shall eyer consider it a messenger of Divine love and protection. 

Tuxed to rapture's note exulting, 
Sing the love of God, my soul ! 

Sing the love of God, whose mandate 
Bade that wave of mercy roll. 

Clouds and darkness shroud his glory ; 

But the thunder's thrilling voice 
Tells to earth his matchless mercy, 

Bids the heart oppressed rejoice. 

Hear the prayer of grateful feeling ! 

For celestial spirits bright 
Bear it to thy footstool, Father ; 

Hear it from thy throne of light. 

In the sunny morn of gladness, 
In the night of grief and fear, 

Still the grateful heart shall bless thee, 
And thy guardian love revere. 

When the crested waves are playing 
'Xeath the star-eyed evening's gaze, 

Thoughts of mercy's wave shall waken 
All my sleeping powers to praise. 



18 A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 



MY MOTHER'S GRAVE. 

Mother ! the cold night winds are sighing 
O'er the dear sod that wraps thy clay ; 

The last faint hues of light are dying 
In the horizon's depths away. 

All, all is hushed ; thy child, alone, 

Is weeping by thy sculptured stone. 

Mother ! the tall, rank weeds are growing, 
The thistle and the bramble wild, 

Where erst love's tenderest tears were flowing, 
And glorious faith triumphant smiled, 

PointiDg the worn and weary heart 

To seek in Christ its better part. 

Mother ! thy sightless child is lonely ; 

The world 's so drear and desolate, 
Hope wanes away ; yet prays she only 

For grace divine, thy call to wait, 
Till Azrael spread his pallid wings, 
And bear her to the Kixo of Kixgs. 

Mother ! thy erring child hath wandered 
From wisdom's path too far astray, 

Time's precious boon too lightly squandered 
In pleasure's summer haunts away. 

Seen but by God, I kiss thy stone : 
O mother ! hear thy orphan's moan, 

And let thy loving spirit be 

Her guide on earth to joy and thee. 



A BUNCH OF PALSIES. 19 

Mother ! I come whilst thou art sleeping, 

In the deep hush of rayless night, 
To free my o'er charged heart by weeping, 

With memory's torch still burning bright, 
And bless those lips, my mother dear, 
That taught thy child the wealth of prayer. 

Mother ! thy tear- wet grave I 'm leaving, 

And many, many years must pass 
O'er this racked breast, with sorrow heaving, 

Ere, kneeling on the sacred grass, 
Near thy lone bed, my mother dear, 
I breathe affection's holiest prayer. 



20 A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 

THE EARLY RECOLLECTIONS OF MY CHILDHOOD. 

Ccrattfulla Snutiitti to ntg mucfj-Io&tti jFrtenti, iBrs. &U00. 

A lady watched over the footsteps of a desolate orphan, 
and gladdened her heart with the sunshine of love. But, 
while the fragrance of affection diffused itself around her, 
think you that orphan forgot her parents who were sleeping 
in taeir lowly graves ? Oh, no ! Like the tones of sweet music 
came to her spirit's ear the low voice of her gentle mother, 
who taught her to say her evening prayer ; and the warm 
kiss of a fond father, as he went forth to his morning's task, 
had never grown cold on her memory. 

She had never looked upon the beautiful sky, radiant 
with the lamps of evening, or the more exquisite charms 
of summer sunset ; yet, entranced with delight, would she 
listen while the eloquent lips of those around her por- 
trayed the matchless loveliness of each scene that varied the 
face of nature, till for a moment she forgot her blindness, 
and her grateful spirit glowed with fervent admiration for 
the Omnipotent, at whose command order sprang from 
chaos, and light illuminated the darkness, when the morn- 
ing stars sang together, and cherubic legions hymned high 
hallelujahs to the Author of creation ; to that God who, in 
the thunder of Mount Sinai, gave forth the Mosaic law 
whose heavenly precepts taught the children of Israel how 
to worship him agreeably to his divine will. 

Scarcely had the years of her infancy sped by, ere it 
pleased the all-wise Disposer of events to call the father and 
husband to his everlasting rest. Long after the parent had 
ceased to be an inhabitant of earth, did the tones of his affec- 



A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 21 

tion vibrate on the heart-strings of his sightless child. She 
could not realize that he was dead — for ever gone. When 
the shadows of twilight dimmed the brightness of the azure 
sky, and the laborers were returning to the bosoms of their 
expectant families, would she go forth and listen at a little 
gate, that her ear might catch the first sound of the well- 
remembered footstep. And, though the grass grew wet with 
the heavy dews of night, still would she linger on the spot. 
" Come in, my dear ; why do you stand alone ? " her mother 
oft would say. And the child replied, " I am waiting for dear 
father. O mother ! will he not come soon ? " At length, 
weary and disappointed, she would go to her little bed and 
weep herself asleep. But the child could not know how her 
mother's heart was breaking, for grief choked her utterance. 

Few are called to suffer such intense anguish as this poor 
widow. Mr. B dying suddenly, with his estate unset- 
tled, unprincipled persons took advantage of these unfortunate 
circumstances, and the mother and her children were left 
almost destitute ; and she was obliged to exert herself to the 
utmost of her abilities to sustain her little family. But the 
promise of the widow's God failed her not. She possessed 
a meek and quiet spirit, and strove to adorn the hearts of 
her little ones with the jewels of humility, charity, and love, 
and made them buoyant with gratitude and joy. 

The early days of this little child were not passed amid 
scenes of romantic beauty. An old-fashioned frame-house, 
with its accompanying conveniences, is among her first recol- 
lections. When her brothers began to go to school, a lone- 
liness crept over her spirit, to which it had before been a 
stranger. She felt herself isolated without knowing why, 
yet took great pleasure in committing to memory the words 
which fell from the lips of her brothers as they conned their 



22 A BUJSTCH OF PANSIES. 

lessons in the evening ; and became at length so fond of 
acquiring knowledge in this way, that she used carefully to 
hoard up her little store of candies, cakes, and pence, that 
with them she might tempt her brothers to forego their play 
and put out words for her to spell. When her amusements 
were exhausted, she would run to her mother and say, as if 
a new light had dawned upon her soul, " Oh, mother, mother, 
you told us this morning that if we would be very good and 
love God, he would answer our prayers. Mother, I will be 
very good if God will make me see." 

" You cannot see in this world. Can you not be happy, 
my child, until God takes you to heaven ? " 

" Oh, no, no. I want to see, and learn to read like 
brothers." 

With fond caresses, the mother strove to soothe the agita- 
tion of her child ; but the restless mind would not be stilled, 
because the cravings of its dawning intellect were yet 
unsatisfied. Frequently, after her brothers had ceased read- 
ing, would she take the book, and for some time finger its 
smooth pages. Then might you see a burning tear rolling 
silently down her young cheeks, as if started by the thought : 
Oh, how delightful thus to learn so much that is beautiful 
and interesting ! Then kissing the book, all sealed to her, 
she would lay it aside. 

But these thoughts did not long cast their shadow over 
her childish spirit. With light and unfaltering footsteps she 
trod the pleasant walks of her native village, with whose 
every haunt she was familiar. It seemed as though the 
Lord of heaven and earth had sent his angels of mercy to 
guard the wanderings of this lonely one ; for, although often 
in situations of imminent peril, no dire harm through acci- 
dent ever befell her. She loved the thunder, for it seemed 



A BUXCH OF PAX8IES. 23 

like the voice of God, as described by the prophets of old. 
She could not see the lightning's vivid rays, and the feeling 
of terror mingled not with her sense of sublimity and emo- 
tion of awe. She loved the flowers for their fragrance, and 
examined with delight their exquisite forms ; she loved the 
babbling brook as it murmured beneath her feet. All 
things that God had made were very dear to her, for she had 
been taught to say, " Our Father who art in heaven." One 
day, after repeating the words of the Psalmist, " When I 
consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and 
the stars which thou hast ordained, what is man that thou 
art mindful of him, or the son of man that thou visitest 
him !" she exclaimed, " mother ! I wish I could see the 
moon : of what color is the sky P 
" Blue," she replied. 

" Then that must be the most beautiful color, or God would 
not have it so near himself," said the child. 

Years have rolled away, and that mother is sleeping in 
the cold, cold earth ; but the impression stamped on the 
mind of her young child can never be obliterated, and till 
her latest day will she ever imagine blue to be the most 
beautiful color of the prism or the rainbow. 

But when the holy Sabbath diffused its all-hallowing 
influence over sea and land, city and village, and the early 
bell pealed forth its cheerful note of invitation to the young, 
to come and gather the unfading flowers of eternity, bloom- 
ing in the Eden of glory, her heart danced for joy ; for she 
had committed to memory the consoling precepts of the 
Bible, and the little primers received in Sunday-school were 
to her more precious than gold. Though she could not 
read them, she could count the leaves to her little brother, 
and this was some comfort. 



24 A BUNCH OF PALSIES. 

It was customary to exhibit in our Western villages shows 
of wax-work and wild beasts. Many of these she was allowed 
to handle, while the more ferocious animals were described 
to her. But the elephant was a particular favorite, and on 
no account would she leave the menagerie without having 
been placed upon his back, or in some other way having 
made herself better acquainted with this giant of the forest. 

The inhabitants of this quiet district were one day thrown 
into a great excitement by the exhibition of a picture of the 
crucifixion of Christ, in the old Presbyterian church. To this 
the child desired her mother, as usual, to take her. But she 
felt the impossibility of conveying to her mind any concep- 
tion of the real beauty of this exquisite painting, and that 
the sunshine of her soul would therefore be overcast with a 
cloud of disappointment. But the entreaties of the child 
conquered the reluctance of the mother. A gentleman took 
her in his arms, and laid her hand upon the picture. " Oh !" 
cried she, " I want to feel Jesus ! Do let me feel Jesus ! " 
" Your hand is upon it, my child," said the stranger, while 
tears gathered in the eyes of the spectators. 

The sightless one wept, too, but not silently. No ; 't was 
her childhood's earliest, bitterest grief. She had been 
taught to examine much that was beautiful in nature and 
art ; but she could not feel Jesus, him she loved so well. 
With one long and tender embrace, the tearful mother 
clasped the child to her bosom, as if the soul of love 
might vent itself in the fond caresses of affection. Years on 
the chariot-wheels of time have since sped by. The child 
has grown to womanhood, and learned how entrancing to 
the soul are the pencil-touches of that exquisite art, from 
whose enjoyment her blindness for ever excludes her. But 
blessed resignation, with its tide of heavenly thoughts, is 
soothing the disquietude of her spirit, while hope is bright- 



A BUXCH OF PALSIES. 25 

ening the distance with its garniture, and leading her timid 
footsteps gently over the rough road of life. 

Yet the restless mind wearied not. Ever on the tireless 
pinions of thought it sought new objects of amusement, with 
which to beguile the solitude of her childish heart. Words 
are inadequate to paint her unbounded raptures when first 
enabled, by the means of raised letters, to spell the name of 
Jesus. She could not view his divine form, so exquisitely 
portrayed on canvas, or mark the holy and beneficent 
expression his features there displayed ; but she might now 
read in Sacred Scripture the manifestations of his wondrous 
love, so strikingly displayed while fulfilling his heavenly 
mission. This blessed Book was as the day-star of faith 
enlightening her darkness ; the inspired precepts, as diamonds 
to her soul, irradiating its secret depths, until its varied emo- 
tions be blended in happy harmony. 



2'0 A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 



EVENING THOUGHTS. 

The authoress of the following lines is lonely and an orphan. 
She dedicates them to each and all who may have cheered her 
shaded way by some kind word, 

I ask not the wreath that decketh the brow 

Of the son of martial fame ; 
'T is darkly dyed with the widow's woe, 
And the orphan's tear is the radiant 'glow 

Of the laurels that grace his name. 
But I ask a spirit humbly meek, 
The contrite sigh and the tear-wet cheek. 

Too deeply fraught is Ambition's dream 

With the heart's unrest and the tearful eye ; 

The glittering baubles that erst would seem 

Life's rarest gems, but a moment gleam, 
And as passing vapor die. 

I ask — to brighten my lowly lot — 

All-glorious faith, for it fadeth not. 

I ask not the magic of wealth, to knit 

My earth-born soul more closely here ; 
Each pleasure lost, as it lingers yet 
On the heart's sad string, is a sigh of regret, 

That leaveth it darkly drear. 
My soul, attuned to Thy praise alone, 
Shall come with the morn and the night's low moan. 



A BU3STCH OF PANSIES. 27 

I am lingering here, but a beam of light 
Is luring me hence. I go to my home, 

To bask in the radiance of glory bright. 

No more, unheeded, the child of night 
Through forest and wild shall roam. 

I am going home to yon dear abode ; 

I am going home to my Father — God. 



28 A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 



YEBSES 

liromptai og. tfje £tnp;tncj of tfje jFrajcr jFamila on tfjctr otsit to tfje Institution. 

Sing when fades the light of day, 
And the pensive twilight gray 
Paints the earth, the restless sea — 
Sing to God, who smiles on thee. 
When the golden stars appear 

In the vast expanse above, 
And the flowers are gemmed with dew, 

Sing to God, for God is Love. 

When the morning's dappled light 
Bursts the prison-bars of night, 
And thy heart is filled with joy, 
Sing to God, thy meet employ. 
In the sylvan shade alone, 

By the clear and babbling stream, 
In the busy haunts of men, 

Sing the love of God supreme. 



A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 29 

IMPROMPTU OX RECEIYIIG A BOUQUET. 

&n ©ffcring to fHtss 23 . 



Oh ! ear tli hath many beauties, 
To glad the heart and eye — 

The fading blush of evening, 
The star-illumined sky. 

ii. 

Mount, bay, and landscape painted 
With hues of varied light, 

All wear a smile of gladness 
To charm the ravished sight. 



But ah ! to me far dearer, 

Eliza, are these flowers 
Than earth's most precious diamond, 

Or fair clematis bowers. 

IV. 

For the Heliotrope is whispering 

So softly in my ear : 
Look up, thou child of sorrow ! 

All, all is fleeting here ; 



30 A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 



To the bright climes where flowers 
In amaranth beauty bloom, 

And the rich light dissolveth 
No more in nightly gloom ; 

VI. 

And the sweet verbena waveth 

Beside the lily fair, 
As if affection bade it 

Her holy semblance wear. 

VII. 



My life may e'er be chequered 
By mingled joy and woe, 

But still amid its changes 
Affection's tears shall flow. 



VIII. 



Oh ! could I hope, Eliza, 
That gentle love would join 

Thy heart to mine as fondly 
As mine is bound to thine ! 



IX. 



For I can ne'er forget thee ; 

Oft in my lonely hours 
I 'Jl turn with tears to bless thee, 

Sweet donor of my flowers. 



A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 31 

AFFECTION'S FLOWEES. 

JFrom "JFxitrCiifi fia fyz OTaa." 

There are flowers, bright flowers in this heart of mine, 

Fanned by the breezes of love divine, 

Living for aye in their exquisite bloom, 

Throwing around me their sweet perfume, 

Sparkling with drops that begem the flowers 

Of amaranth beauty in heaven's own bowers, 

And cherished with care by the heart's warm tear. 

"Would ye ask, would ye ask, How came they there? 

"Friends by the way," as they gently smiled, 

Have breathed love's words to a desolate child : 

Fraught with hope was each tone that fell, 

And the angels gathered its meaning well ; 

Each word that fell, with a magic power, 

The angels have changed to a fadeless flower, 

Pencilled its hues from the rainbow's wing, 

And it giveth the soul an eternal spring. 

Yet think ye they bloom for themselves alone ? 

Is their fragrant breath to the world unknown ? 

They hallow at even each holy prayer. 

Will ye ask, will ye ask, why they 're blooming there ? 

Why riseth the day-star in splendor so bright 

From his mountain home, and bathes in light 

The sleeping earth and the foam-billow's crest, 

And mirrors his form on the ocean's breast ? 

Ask ye the birds, when they sweetly chime 

Their matin songs in the summer time, 

And sportively hurry from spray to spray, 



32 A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 

If they warble alone for themselves all day ; 

And soft as a lute would their numbers flow : 

" We are singing to gladden a vale of woe." 

Ask ye the moon when her silvery sheen, 

Where the sun's warm light hath played, is seen ; 

Or the radiant stars, as they ride on high, 

And spangle with silver the azure sky. 

From each rolling sphere will the answer be : 

" Mortal ! we shine for thy God and thee." 

From the flowers that adorn the soul arise 

Sweet odors, like songs, to the upper skies ; 

Floating afar through those arches broad, 

They 're shedding their sweets at the feet of God. 

May the cheering light of eternal day 

Illumine the path of each " friend by the way ! " 

From the depth of each spirit spring fragrant flowers, 

Like those that regale my lonely hours. 



A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 33 



THE FALLING OF THE DINNER-POT. 

To all who have an hour to spend, 

I '11 sing a little song ; 
Please promise me you will not smile, 

When told it can't be long. 

Of death, of loss of property, 

Of blighted hope and love ; 
Of friends that coil around the heart, 

And then deceptive prove ? 

Ah ! there are hues of darker shade 
Reserved for each poor sinner ; 

But none their withering blast can know 
"Who has not lost his dinner. 

Seated in social converse sweet, 
The hours sped quickly past : 

We talked of C. D.'s perjured oath, 
His motives first and last. 

And as the kitchen door would ope, 

Was the olfactory nerve 
Aye greeted by a savory smell, 

Which would as whetstone serve 

Of appetite. Tables and chairs 

All in their places stood, 
And needed but their occupants 

To make all very good. 



34 A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 

What means that loud, tremendous crash \ 

Why startle with affright ? 
Why stands aghast yon trembling girl, 
"With lips so ashy white ? 

Ah me ! my dear, said Mrs. P., 

Ours is a woful lot ; 
An accident — our careful girl 

Upset the dinner-pot. 

Tes ; there a most delicious stew 
Lies strewn along the floor ! 

I 'm sure those boards haye neyer known 
Such feasting times before. 

Each to the other comfort spoke, 
For, from a bounteous store, 

An humbler meal the table graced : 
We ate and laughed once more. 

And all agreed with one accord 

That we 'd forget it not, 
The day on which our hopes fell down 

With that said dinner-pot. 



A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 35 



MUSIC THE GIFT OF ANGELS TO MEN. 

When beauteous earth from chaos sprung, 
And day's all-glorious lamp was hung, 
Man, in the likeness of his God, 
The new-made earth with gladness trod. 

Angels, adoring, fold their wings, 
And ask the eternal King of kings, 
" What boon most dear to us in heaven 
May to the new-born race be given ? " 

Harmonious through the angelic throng 
An anthem rose — echoed the song. 
Unnumbered worlds, and flower-decked earth, 
And mighty ocean, hailed its birth. 

Eapturous they said : " Music is given 
To win the sons of men to heaven, 
To cheer the desolate when drear, 
And steal from grief its burning tear. 

"The patriot's love of country strong 
Will kindle with his native song ; 
Virtue, religion, shed afar 
Their influence 'neath sweet music's star. 

" Emotions soft and pure shall rise, 
Like holiest incense, to the skies ; 
Sweet thoughts around the wanderer come, 
If music cheered his boyhood's home. 



36 A BUNCH OF PA1STSIES. 

" At eve, when clay's receding light 
Melts in the depths of gentler night, 
Then music to the realms above 
Shall waft the strains of grateful love." 

Angels, for this, your glorious boon, 

Our hearts Jehovah's praises tune ; 

For music to the blind is light ; , 

Their beauty's hue, and lustre of their night. 



A BUNCH OF PANSIBS. 37 



PHILHARMOXIA. 



Stanzas written after returning from a concert of the Philhar- 
monic Society, and respectfully dedicated to the members of that 
Society, to whose constant attention we are indebted for the enjoy- 
ment of a pleasure so dear. 



All hail to thee, Music ! thou sun-lighted vision, 
Thy soft, melting cadence, thy rich, gushing swell, 

Give birth to the feelings of sorrow and gladness, 
The fount of emotions lies hid in thy spell. 

ii. 

The ear with an exquisite transport is raptured, 
While through the wide regions of fancy we stray. 

The strength of thy genius, Beethoven, hath taught us 
To soar from earth's cares and its trifles away : 

in. 

Now witchingly soft as the light, sportive zephyr, 
That shrinks from the sunbeam to sleep in the rose ; 

Now plaintively sad as the wail of a mother 

O'er the child of her bosom in death's last repose. 



Thou, peace-loving Mozart, of genius so brilliant, 

"Whose life breathed of heaven while ling'ring below, 

Hast taught how sweet music enables the spirit 
To walk with its God in this region of woe. 
3 



38 A BUNCH OF PALSIES. 



V. 



We may not look forth on the mirror of nature, 
The broad rolling sea and the star-jewelled sky ; 

But harmony's voice, with a strain all-inspiring, 
Is warbling of heaven and glory for aye. 



VI. 



Ye Ve gathered the soul's cherished treasures immortal, 
The beauties of genius, the fragrance of sound, 

Entranced with your magic the hearts of the people, 
While scattering the gems of sweet music around. 



VII. 



Forget not the harps of the saints everlasting, 
Vibrating when time and its pleasures are o'er ; 

And oh ! may ye swell the hosannas eternal, 
And with children of music abide evermore. 



A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 39 



OS MR. DEMPSTER'S SECOXD VISIT TO THE INSTITUTION 

Softly trembling, sweetly playing 
O'er trie heart's enraptured strings, 

Is trie tuneful strain of gladness 
Which to-day thy coming sings. 

Yes, with heart-felt joy we greet thee, 

For thy tones are lingering yet 
In the rlow'ry haunts of mem'ry ; 

Can the ravished ear forget \ 

What is music ? To the sightless 

'T is a world of beauty bright ; 
Thought, enriched by sound, may gather 

More than rainbow-hues of sight. 

Music hath a voice of gladness 

When the heart is crushed with care ; 

Hath a tender note of sadness, 
Wooing erring ones to prayer. 

Sing the merry songs of Scotland, 
Sing thy plaintive strains once more ; 

Let the gushing tears of pity 
Fall as they have fall'n before. 

May the buds of hope celestial 

Blossom in thy soul for aye ; 
Son of music, may life's evening 

Like a sunbeam pass away. 



40 A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 

Sing when love is weeping o'er thee, 
And the white-robed throng rejoice ; 

Open wide the gates of glory, 
Sing to God who gave thee voice ! 



A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 41 



A FRAGMENT FROM THE YALE OF LOWLY LIFE. 

It was an exceedingly warm day in mid-summer, and the 
sun's rays beat oppressively on the unsheltered pedestrian. 
All gladly sought the covert of umbrageous trees, or the 
more delightful coolness of their village homes. Mrs. P. 
and I were seated in the front basement ; and, while the 
refreshing breeze from the old elm trees fanned our brows, 
we congratulated ourselves, but did not forget the laborers 
in the field, and those whose daily avocations necessarily 
exposed them to the intolerable heat of this day. The gate 
opened, and Mrs. P., looking up from her work, descried an 
old Dutch woman, with a basket of berries on her head, 
walking leisurely up the shaded path that led to the house. 
And then I thought how very lonely must be the lot of the 
daughters of poverty. "When she offered her fruit for sale, 
Mrs. P. said to her kindly : 

" You are too old to lead this life. Have you no children 
to bear its burdens for you ? " 

" No," she replied in broken English ; " they are all dead, 
and I am quite alone ; but I am an old woman, and can't 
live long." 

" You must be sorry for that," said my friend. 

The joy that kindled in her eye diffused itself over her 

hitherto unexpressive features, as she replied with energy : 

a Oh, no ! I am going home, home to Jesus, home to 
Jesus ! " 

Oh, blessed hope ! In imagination I already saw the dia- 
mond crown of life encircle her brow, and heard a harp of 
seraphic rapture discoursing sweet music through the flowery 
arches of heaven, in obedience to the touch of this once poor 



42 A BUNCH OF P.AJSTSIES. 

berry woman. How beautiful are the garments of salva- 
tion with which the heirs of God are clothed ! 

The poor seem to have been the especial favorites of our 
Lord. Christ, while fulfilling his heavenly mission, selected 
his disciples from the humbler walks of life, thereby teach- 
ing the rich humility, and inspiring the hearts of the poor 
with gratitude and love. 



A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 43 



THE YOICE OF FLOWERS. 

WLxitUn fofjiU fjol&tnfl a pteacitttfj, anfc respectfulls 3n*txilzti ta 

Mt. &. 30 ♦ £. 

The voice of flowers is the voice of prayer, 
Soothing the soul in its time of care ; 
The voice of flowers is the voice of love, 
Luring the soul to its rest above. 

The voice of flowers, like a glistening star, 
Beguiles the wandering one afar 
Through regions of space to life's blessed streams, 
Where the Lamb's pure glory eternally gleams. 

The voice of flowers hath a silvery tone, 
Winning poor sinners to Mercy's throne ; 
And we bend the knee as the notes of praise 
Attune our souls to seraphic lays. 

The voice of flowers is the old man's friend, 
For it sings how the journey of life shall end ; 
The voice of flowers to the youth can bring 
The sunshine of truth in his blooming spring. 

The voice of flowers, in the hour of death, 
With faultless music and fragrant breath, 
A whispering .angel of mercy, shall come, 
Wooing the soul to its holier home. 



44 A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 

And thou, little flower, so sweet and so fair, 
Hast a voice for me. Speak ! fain would I hear 
Of the better land and the bright-blue hills, 
Where the waters leap in their crystal rills. 

" Shall the friend who has watched o'er thy delicate 
form 

Be sheltered soon from life's pitiless storm ? " 
" He shall linger on earth for a little while, 

Then bask in the light of his Saviour's smile." 

" Oh ! bid him come near when his bosom heaves 
With the tempest of grief, and our tiny leaves 
Shall whisper of heaven ; for Christ shall be 
His anchor of hope on life's boisterous sea. 

" Yes, bid him come near with the morning light, 
Or when stars look out on the silent night, 
With the flowers of joy, with the thorns of care, 
Oh, bid him come waken the music of prayer I n 

February 28, 1852. 



A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 45 

LINES 

Insmfafc to Mx. IStrfoartt Gimooto, 

Grandson of one of the first founders of our Institution. Mr. W. 
fills the place of his deceased father, who was a most active and 
efficient manager. 

Welcome to the band made happy 
By thy father's voice so dear ; 

Welcome, for the light of gladness 
Sheds a gentle radiance here. 

Hearest thou not a beauteous spirit 
Speaking through the silent night? 

'T is thy grandsire's voice approving — 
Son ! thy path is chosen right. 

Onward, then, where duty leads thee ; 

Of the friendless be the friend ; 
Peace thy motto, and the footsteps 

Of the orphan lone defend. 

In the morn of life thus early, 
Oh, 't was well to choose the path 

Which thy sire and grandsire honored, 
Ere the call of ruthless Death. 

Hushed the heart so fondly beating 
While the glance of love was bright ; 

But the charm of well-done labors 
Sheds a never-fading light. 

3* 



46 A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 



AN ADDRESS, 

OTrittcn for tfje ^nnibersara of tfje Institution for tfje 3SIin*r, teUoratefc 
in MIzq, 1848. 

Borne on by Time's unwearied wing, 

We hail with joy the balmy Spring ; 

And come, dear friends, with hearts the while 

As gladsome as her own bright smile, 

To greet, in music's thrilling tone, 

The hearts that vibrate with our own, 

And bring, to deck our rayless night, 

The gems of intellectual light. 

That rayless night hath come at last, 

And memory, musing o'er the past, 

Kecalls the long and weary hours 

Ere yet we culled fair mental flowers. 

A book ! Oh, ye can never know 
How we have bathed with tears of woe 
The precious page from which in vain 
We strove one gleam of light to gain. 
Now — blessed change ! — amid our tears 
The rainbow smile of joy appears, 
As ever and anon we find 
Another book to cheer the blind. 

Another book ! JSTo diadem 
Could win from us that priceless gem, 
Or half the blissful joys bestow 
That from its storied pages flow. 



A BUNCH OF PAXSIES. 47 

Well may an honest, generous pride 
Spread o'er each cheek its mantling tide, 
That, in our land of liberty, 
Columbia's sons, the brave and free, 
While winning for our country's name, 
In arts and arms, undying fame, 
Forget not, in their proud career, 
The holier toil, the blind to cheer. 



48 A BUNCH OF PANSIE3. 



BOYS' DIALOGUE. 

Written for Thanksgiving Evening, and recited by two little 
boys. It is the custom of our Superintendent to hold a festival at 
that time. 

FIRST. 

Good evening, brother ; tell me where 
You Ve been this live-long day ? 

SECOND. 

At marbles played, and raised my kite ; 
But where were you, I pray ? 

FIRST. 

I in the school-room lingered long : 

But do I hear aright ? 
Are we to have a jubilee 

On this Thanksgiving Night ? 

SECOND. 

They say we are. 

FIRST. 

And then you '11 dance ? 

SECOND. 

Oh no ; I 'd rather sing. 

FIRST. 

Perhaps a story then you '11 tell ? 



A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 49 

SECOND. 

No ; let us form a ring. 

FIRST. 

What shall it be ? 

SECOND. 

" Go Round the Bush," 
Or " Lady in the Chair." 

FIRST. 

Ah ! then you think you '11 have a chance 
To kiss your little dear. 

SECOND. 

You frighten me ; indeed you do. 

FIRST. 

Now, Johnny, I '11 not look, 
If from the " Lady in the Chair " 
One little kiss you hook. 

SECOND. 

Do, Georgey, lay your jokes aside, 

And tell me why, I pray, 
We always meet so joyfully 

On each Thanksgiving Day ? 

FIRST. 

The harvest stores are gathered in, 

The rich and poor have food, 
While all with praise unite to bless 

God, who 's so very good. 



50 A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 

And we are met, a little band ; 

Our guardian Father clear 
Is with us with his kindly smile ; 

His voice we love to hear. 

SECOND. 

What can we do to please him most \ 

FIRST. 

Methinks I hear him say," 
Good children please me when they learn 

Their lessons every day. 
And we will say our evening prayers, 

Be to each other true ; 
Angels will smile upon us then : 

Dear teachers, will not you ? 

SECOND. 

But let us sing a little song, 

Our voices all unite ; 
It fills my heart so full of joy, 

This dear Thanksgiving Night. 



A BU> T CH OF PANSIES. 51 



GIRLS' DIALOGUE. 

Dialogue written for two little girls, and recited at a Semi- 
Annnal Examination in the Institution for the Blind, held pre- 
f to the Christmas Holidays. 

H me, sister Helen, why 
You look so sad to-day ? 
May not my love your grief assuage. 
And wipe your tears away ! " 

•• Oh, ask me not, beloved one ; 
T would make me very sad." 

" Y to share thy grief, 

To try to make thee glad. 
Did not we promise y ester d: 
ah other's friends to be ? 
though mine is a little heart, 
is full of love for thee." 

:en, Emma, do you recollect 
Poor Bess, o Ti r mother's maid, 

light her heart with pleasure beat 
While round the room we played ? 
H ; w tenderly she led us forth 

reathe the morning air ? " 

gave a double z 
To play when she was there ; 
But what 



52 A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 

" Emma dear, 

Her only child is dead. 
She says she 's old and lonely now, 

And fain would lay her head 
Where sleeps her child. Such sighs, such groans, 

I never heard before ; 
I wish I knew something to say 

To make her smile once more." 

" Then tell her, those we love, who die, 
Descend from heaven's bright sphere, 
And softly whisper words of peace — 
Tell her her child is near." 

" Indeed I will, so pleasant 't is 
Each other's friends to be : 
Again I '11 never hesitate 

To share each thought with thee." 

Joy may be sweet ; but sorrow hath 

A purer, richer tone, 
When echoed from two youthful hearts 

Whose feelings blend as one. 



A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 53 

HOPE. 

WLxitttn for tfje Snniomara of 1850. 

I Vb floated o'er earth on a beam of light, 

As the fire-fly shines in the darkest night ; 

I Ve kissed the flowers bespangled with dew, 

Then soared aloft to my home of blue. 

On a golden beam through a fairy bower 

I have sought in vain for a fadeless flower ; 

Its hue must be bright as a seraph's wings, 

"When he basks in the smile of the King of kings, 

Its fragrance pure as the light above 

That beams from the brow of the God of love. 

I sought on that lovely sea-girt shore, 

Where science and wisdom were blent of yore, 

Where, sportive as birds in their leafy bowers, 

Young children were twining the earliest flowers ; 

Yet their sires were groaning with anguish keen, 

On each manly cheek was the tear-drop seen, 

And lone by that shore, where the Grecian wave 

W T as dashing its spray, stood a chieftain brave. 

His people were slaves, and their galling chain 

Was rending his soul. Shall it suffer in vain ? 

I sought to solace his anguish deep, 

And encourage his heart that he should not weep ; 

And he said, as I whispered : My arm is strong : 

Unconscious of might, I have wept too long ; 

My land shall be free as the mountain air, 

And the tyrant be crushed in his hideous lair. 

But his generous soul with revenge grew dark, 

And I wept, though I quenched not its kindling spark. 



54 A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 

Where the happy were wrapped in their visions of love, 

And the sky lamps were gemming the azure above, 

On the downy breath of the sportive breeze 

That murmured all night 'mid the leaf-clad trees, 

I was gently borne to a chamber lone, 

Where the midnight lamp o'er a scholar shone, 

The offspring of genius, whose every thought 

With fancy and feeling were richly fraught. 

But a dream of ambition was lurking there, 

And I turned with a sigh to a scene more fair, 

Where the perfume sweet o'er my senses stole : 

'Twas the balm of peace to the anguished soul ; 

It breathed from a flower, a lovely thing 

That bloomed in the heart's most sacred spring. 

Then the trophy-clad seraphs around me came ; 

Their harps of glory were sounding its name : 

'Twas blessed Beneficence, spotless and mild, 

And I hailed it immortal with joys undefiled. 

In an amaranth wreath for the brow of the kind, 

It is twined by the orphan, the mute, and the blind, 

And it blooms ever fair as the su:r of even, 

Though drooping and sad with the tear-drops of heaven. 



A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 55 



AN ADDRESS, 

Bfrecitetr at a Contplimentarg Concert to tfje gtutoenta ottfje protectant 
SSpiacopal General STfjeological .Seminars* 

Wooed by the soft, balm-laden air, 

Whereon the flowers their fragrance fling, 

I come to weave enchantments fair 
In loving friendship's magic ring. 

Their varied forms and beauteous dyes 

Outvie the rainbow-tinted skies. 

I come, but not with Sappho's rhyme 
Of measure wild and love-lorn tone, 

Or Milton's nobler strains sublime, 
Shaking the Prince of Evil's throne. 

With humble thoughts and simple phrase 

I paint the joys of passing days. 

Ye came when Phoebus' golden light 

Was veiled behind his couch of rest, 
And the pale moon of azure night 
Mirrored itself on ocean's breast; 
When o'er the peopled city far 
" Gleamed tiny lamp and evening star. 

The wealth of genius then ye brought, 

Poetic gems and storied truth, 
Or stern philosopher's deep thought, 

Or glowing page of gifted youth. 
Pathetic tale or fancy's stroke 
The gay laugh won, the sigh awoke. 



53 A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 

When from the north Euroclydon 
Dishevelled ocean's shaggy mane, 

And storm-clouds from their heights anon 
Sent fleecy snow or driving rain, 

The pelting storm ye heeded not, 

But hastened on to cheer our lot. 

Here let me still my warbling lyre, 
Nor linger o'er the notes of song ; 

A fitful echo touched the wire, 

And swept its trembling chords along. 

Dear friends, may hope's perennial smile 

Each heart console, each grief beguile. 



A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 57 



THE BANKS OF THE RHINE. 

Composed and set to music for the concert given to the Students of 
the Protestant Episcopal General Theological Seminary. 

I come with the moonlight, my own love, to thee, 
To bask with the stars in the glance of thine eye. 
I've longed for the close of this beautiful day, 
Though the sweet birds were singing their soft roundelay. 
Fly not, like the fawn, from thy lover afar, 
Thou day-dream of beauty, thou ever-bright star. 
Turn not from thy suppliant ; dearest, be mine ; 
I ask, I implore, on the banks of the Ehine. 

I Ve won the sweet blossom that bloomed in the vale, 
And the voices of music float by on the gale. 
With rapture unbounded my heart is elate, 
And I ask not of Fortune a happier fate. 
Oh, exquisite transport ! oh, blissful delight ! 
The clouds of suspense have rolled by in a night ; 
And with purest effulgence for ever will shine 
The jewel I 've won on the banks of the Rhine. 



58 A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 

AS ADDRESS, 

Bettttfj at a (konttxt gittn in attr of tije Cfmrtf) oi tfje l^jola gpoatU*. 

'T was evening, and the moon's soft light 

Pencilled the mountain's rugged height ; 

The stars shone out, and mortals sought 

The quiet joys of holy thought. 

Of bright-eyed hope, and life's young spring, 

And fancy's flowers, I strove to sing, 

When softly on my charmed ear fell 

A voice of more than witching spell, 

Of richer tone and holier strain 

Than earth-born child may hear again. 

It whispered, "Mortal, dream no more; 

Deal gently, kindly with the poor. 

Tossed on a rough and boisterous sea, 

How fraught with anxious misery 

Their daily lot of ceaseless cares, 

Corroding grief and burning tears. 

Affection's chain, whose links are love, 

Hallowed by angels' smiles above, 

Flowers of the heart, whose vernal hues 

Are gemmed with heaven's own crystal dews, 

Bloom not for them, but pass away, 

Like dappled light in evening's gray. 

Then do as ye have done before ; 

Give freely, kindly to the poor. 

Go, for the sake of Christ, who wept 

By Kedron's brook when mortals slept ; 



A BUXCH OF PAXSIES. 59 

Go, for the glory of your God, 
Gladden the widow's lone abode, 
And teach the orphan lips to bless 
The Father of the fatherless. 
With radiant faith and holy prayer, 
The dying, comfortless, go cheer. 
Would you your Maker, God, adore, 
Go, bear glad tidings to the poor. 



60 A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 



THOUGHTS SUGGESTED BY THE SEASONS. 

GTo 4&r. (Cfcamfrerlam, our former mucf)4obttr .Supermtetttjent, fytst fjttmfcle 
zitusiam are ijratetulla fcetotcatefc. 

Dear Friend: — Your unwearied kindness shed around our path 
the sunshine of perpetual joy. In the spring-time of our lives it 
caused the buds of hope to bloom in our souls, unblighted by harsh 
words, or the more chilling breath of cold indifference. 

Perchance 't is strange, yes, very strange, 

That one who ne'er has seen 
Should dare portray the varied change 

Of flower and herbage green. 

But self-conceit deludes the throng; 

Presumption, too, of late, 
Puts forth her title to a song, 

And calls mankind her mate. 

Each sounds his own loud trump of fame, 

And feels himself a man, 
And gathers laurels for his name 

As brilliant as he can. 

So, if among this motley throng, 

Some day you chance to find 
A wanderer who has lost his way, 

Or truant from the blind — 

Forgive, as you will now forgive 

Presumptuous little me, 
Who from the book of nature bright 

Pretend to read to thee. 



A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 61 



Sprttfs* 



Now Nature is timing her wild harp again ; 

Young Spring corneth forth with her burden of flowers; 
The sunbeams are peeping in valley and glen, 

And the wood-thrush and cuckoo are chiming the hours. 

The earth is enrobing herself, with delight, 

In her mantle of green, and the ice bids good-bye ; 

The cattle lie down, while the laborer looks bright, 
For the smile of contentment is gladdening his eye. 

And the children halloo as they hurry away, 

Over meadow and fence, to the wide-spreading tree ; 

They are laughing and singing, for health's rosy ray 
Is mantling each cheek gaily dimpled with glee. 

And rolling on high are the silver clouds seen, 

While the landscape is glowing with purple and gold: 

How sweet to repose 'neath the wild leafy screen, 
While the shepherd is calling the lambs to the fold ! 

And crocus and primrose, with each genial morn, 
Are opening their charms to the sun's burning kiss; 

And each vernal shower is a benison born 
To gladden the earth in its virginal bliss. 

There's joy on the mountain, there 's joy in the vale, 
There 's joy in the garden's each scented parterre, 

There 's joy in the cottage, there 's joy in the gale, 
There 's joy to the aged, the young, and the fair. 

A 



62 A BUNCH OF PAJSTSIES. 



BpxiriQ. 



Spring is the aurora of Lope, peeping into the hearths 
most secret depths, and waking, with no unskilful hand, its 
sleeping chords to sweetest harmony, ere its purer emotions 
are contaminated by the touch of earthly selfishness. 'T is 
the halo of life gathering radiance with the decline of each 
successive year. And age, poor trembling age, feels the 
vigor of youth rekindle in its bosom as anon it reenters this 
golden season. 



Summer* 

'T is the balmy sir of evening 

Playing with the nodding flowers,, 
While the whippoorwill is singing 

Far remote in woodland bowers. 
Homeward turns the cheerful laborer, 

While his children throng the door ? 
Waiting for a father's blessing, 

For his loving kiss once more. 
Love and friendship twine the chaplet 

Meet to grace that Christian's brow; 
In his elbow-chair reclining, 

Ah ! what harm can reach him now ? 
Hark ! their song of praise is swelling 

On the silent air of even, 
Far the golden stars outshining, 

Eising to the gates of heaven. 
With the morn's resplendent brightness 

Beauteous flowers are opening new,. 



A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 63 

Rose and lily, pink and hawthorn, 

Jessamine and violet blue. 
In the pleasing hush of evening, 

Oh ! how sweet to meditate 
On the joys reserved in heaven 

For the soul immaculate. 
Yes, the golden tints of summer 

Cheer us on life's rugged road ; 
'T is the time for holy musing, 

When the heart goes up to God. 



Summer* 

Spring, with its array of bright dreams and golden 
visions, has passed ; and Summer, the noontide of the 
soul, bright, balmy, and beautiful, has come. In embryo, 
thought, nursed by the laughing breeze of spring, unfolds 
its hidden beauties to the warmer smile of summer ; and the 
grateful heart expands with admiration, while contemplating 
the infinite wisdom and wonderful skill of the beneficent 
Creator of heaven and earth. All nature teems with loveli- 
ness, and conveys a lesson of deepest import to the human 
soul. Happy are they who purchase the pearl of great 
price ere the cold winds of autumn, or the winter of eternal 
death, palsy the fingers and still the heart for ever ! How 
acceptable to God is the free-will offering of young and ten- 
der hearts ! Them will the Shepherd of Israel lead, through 
the green pastures of hope, up to the distant hills of life, 
and the golden gates of New Jerusalem shall open, with 
the sound of sweet music, to their call. 



64 A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 



giututan. 



The soothing breeze that fanned the wanderer's cheek, 

And stole the fragrance from the summer flowers, 

Has died anon — 't is Nature's burial. 

The aerial car of restless Time rolled by, 

And dazzling beauty faded at his glance. 

The matin songs of merry birds are hushed, 

And tuneful Echo's mournful tones alone 

Recall the memory of that golden time. 

The winged winds, that dolefully along 

Old ocean sweep, its crested billows toss 

In fury wild ; then, playing with their foam, 

Sink down, far down, to coral caves unknown, 

Where glide the mermaids in their shell-built boats, 

Or JEolus greet among his caverned isles ; 

Then rock the forest like a cradled child, 

Making sad wailing 'mong the leafless trees. 

The rugged pines in majesty sublime 

Bow their high heads before the lightning's stroke, 

And dead leaves crackle 'neath the traveller's step. 

All wear the phase of melancholy change. 



gutunrn. 

Life is ebbing in its autumn time. The bright delusions 
of its golden spring have melted away like the morning 
dew ; and the midday's sun, that with effulgence lighted up 
its summer and gave such brilliancy to the countless beau- 
ties of that delightful season, has also passed ; but the calm 



A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 65 

serenity and holy peace with which the soul was filled still 
exists, and gentle friendship loves to soothe the evening 
hours of life. 'T is sweet to hear from the lips of some re- 
vered friend an account of the innocent pleasures of his 
childhood, till his heart glows with ecstasy, and he forgets 
for a while through what long journey of time he has 
travelled — forgets the eternity hard by whose verge he 
stands. How much of sorrow, how much of joy, how much 
of sage experience may the lips of the aged impart to the 
young. The inspired Word commands us to " rise up before 
the hoary head," and blessed shall they be who in the morn- 
ing of life observe that sacred precept. 



Wintwc. 

Life wears its brightest, gayest phase, 
Though winter wraps the passing days 

In vest of purest snow ; 
For friends long parted gather now, 
And smiles illume each joy- wreathed brow, 

And buds of feeling grow. 

For flowers of never-fading hue, 

Of fragrant breath and heavenly dew, 

Adorn the human soul ; 
And purer, sweeter grow those flowers, 
When holy deeds and tears of ours 

Deny the world's control ; 

When generous hearts, expanding wide 
With Christian love's all-hallowing tide, 



66 A BUNCH OF PANSEES. 

Seek out the suffering poor, 
In cellars dark, in garrets lone, 
When fitfully the wind's sad moan 

Howls through the broken door. 



The frosi-gemrned windows — to the light- 
Of varied forms and fancies bright 

Tell tales of joy the while ; 
The honest farmer's holiday, 
"White winter, rules with cheerful sway, 

And charms with genial smile. 

And tinkling bells are heard afar, 
While mildly beams the evening star 

On the glad throng below ; 
The merry laugh, the gleeful joke, 
And songs that through the still air float, 

Tell of the young heart's glow. 



(blast. 

We have seen how each season presents a charm peculiar 
to itself. Every variation of climate, every variety of scenery, 
is fraught with beauties which delight the eye and gratify 
the heart. Dear and much-loved friend, in the spring of 
rapture, in the summer of peaceful quiet, in the autumn of 
disappointment, and the winter of ease, in your fatherly 
counsel my weakness found strength, in your unwearied 
kindness my grief a solace. What is death ? Death, to 
the Christian, is the opening of the gates of light. The 



A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 67 

soul wins the goal for which it so long and tirelessly strug- 
gled while on earth, and the brow is encircled with a golden 
crown of glory. Friend of my soul, perchance by the waters 
of life we may meet, and talk of the joys and sorrows of this 
nether world. Till life's fading evening shall waft thy worn 
and weary heart to the haven of everlasting rest, may peace, 
celestial peace, be the guest of thy bosom ! 



68 A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 



THE SONG OF THE "NEW YEAR/' 

From the ice-bound realms of the North afar, 

To cheer the earth as a meteor star, 

I corne, for pleasure awaits me here, 

And they welcome with music the glad New Year. 

To scatter the roseate beams of joy, 

And young hopes pure from the dark alloy 

Of sorrow deep and the burning tear : 

Oh ! they shall not sadden the bright New Year. 

But virtue puissant and truth shall shine, 
Ennobling the soul with their breath divine ; 
The diamond of faith and the dew-drops of prayer 
Shall hallow my footsteps — the bright New Year. 

On the radiant pinions of light above, 
I 've soared for the balm of unfeigned love ; 
The holy have sanctioned my mission rare, 
And angels are blessing the bright New Year. 

They shall not weep as before they 've wept, 
Where the star-lighted visions of hope had slept, 
And the heart, bowed down in its mute despair, 
Sighed, mournfully sighed, to the closing ye:r : 

Though the earth may be clad in its robe of white, 
And the once green trees be muffled and dight 
In snow-wreaths and ice, while the wind's low moan 
Is singing the dirge of the Old Year gone. 



A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 69 

I 've slept in the breast of an amaranth flower, 
In the crystal drop of an April shower ; 
From a moon-lit beam, in a star-gemmed sky, 
I 've looked on the earth as I floated by. 

The fragrant blossoms of love must be 

On the leafy boughs of a fadeless tree ; 

I come to scatter these blossoms fair, 

While kindness illumines the bright New Year. 

I 've sung to the morn with the dappled light, 

And the beauteous tints of the rainbow bright, 

To unnumbered worlds in their high career, 

Through regions of space— -sung the bright New Year. 

Now, singing, I come to the children of earth, 
And with rapture they echo my carol of mirth ; 
And the mourner's sigh and the orphan's tear 
Shall cease with the dawn of the bright New Year. 



70 A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 



THOUGHTS WHISPERED TO A FRIEXD, 

Wooed by no magic spell. 
Softly their cadence fell, 

Thoughts ever dear ; 
Thoughts ever pure and blest, 
Bright as the sparkling crest 

Moonlight doth wear. 

Softer than music sweet, 
Tinkling from fairies' feet, 

Soothing words come ; 
"While the blue waters dance, 
'Neath the stars' timid glance, 

From their arched dome. 

Pleasure's ephemeral ray 
Fades like a summer's day : 

Turn to thy God. 
Come, in the morn of life, 
Ere the world's cruel strife 

Chill thy young blood ; 

Ere time's autumnal blast 
Night round thy spirit cast, 

Come, mortal, come. 
Where the ambrosial breeze 
Floats through immortal trees, 

This is our home. 



A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 71 



PASCUA FLORIDA. 

.Stanzas, wspectfulls Beoicataj to tfje &eo. &. 23. f^art, some tint* 
offtciattns in; ti)e £i)ap*l of tf>e Institution, 

* Pascua Florida ! how lovely thy flowers ! 

How sweet was their breath on that beautiful day ! 
For a pencil resplendent was gilding their bowers 
With the sunbeam of promise that fades not away. 



* Our old Spanish navigators, animated by a spirit of devotion, 
and exploring this ]S~ew World of the West, gave to the lands they 
discovered the names of the saints or of the religious festivals on 
whose days the harbor, hill, or shore was first descried or entered. 
When the south- eastern portion of our present Kepublic heaved 
upon the sight of the tossed mariners from the breast of the ocean, 
it was the vernal season of the year, in which the Church celebrates 
the joyful solemnities of our Lord's Resurrection. This queen of 
sacred feasts, Easter, is known in Spanish by the beautiful name of 
Pascua de Flores, or Pascua Florida — the Flower- Crowned Festi- 
val, or Flowered Passover. In those genial latitudes, too, the ear- 
liest spring puts forth its floral treasures, and the sailors' hearts and . 
senses both were cheered with the rich vision of a soil green with 
andromeda, ericoides, and prinus, and waving with forests of pine, 
palmetto, and lofty magnolias twined with jessamine, whose blent 
fragrance loaded the land-breeze of morning. Lilies and passion- 
flowers, calmia and orchis, and countless varieties of flowers, grow 
wild in the untilled gardens of southern sands and woods. In the 
devout estimation of the Catholic navigators, nature and religion 
united to suggest the pleasant name of the new-found peninsula — 
the name of Florida — which was then applied to a territory extending 
much farther north and west, though now limited to a single State. 
In reading the beautiful lines to which this incident gave occasion, 
it should be observed that, according to a rule in Spanish pronun. 
ciation, the accent here falls on the penultimate syllable ri, and the 
words are pronounced as if written Pas-kah Flo-ree-dah. — Ed. 



72 A BUJSTCH OF PANSIES. " 

Pascua Florida! the light of thy dawning 
Was hailed by the watch-weary sailor afar ; 

Thy foliage-clad woods and the birds of the morning 
Enraptured his soul, and he called thee a star. 

Pascua Florida ! with Easter we link thee, 
And fond recollection still brightens thy fame ; 

Thy balm-scented breeze and thy blooming magnolias 
Shall whisper at even thy ne'er-changing name. 

Pascua Florida ! the blue smoke is curling, 
The sons of the forest glide over thy streams ; 

Elate from the toils of the hunter returning, 

They lie in their wigwams to wander in dreams. 

Pascua Florida ! thy red sons are passing, 

Like autumn's sere leaves, to the dark, dim unknown. 

Oh ! shed o'er their spirits the light everlasting ; 
Its radiance perchance may illumine your own. 



A BUNCH OF PANSIE3. 73 



WELCOME TO A CHIEF. 

&n Stofcwss imitUn on xfjc occasion of ifjt uisit of Bco. £coraje Copfoan 
(£af) ; £C;a;af) ; c$af) ; oouJ)) to tf)c Institution. 

Oh welcome, thou stranger ! our hearts' warm emotions 
Are clustering around thee, thou chief of the brave ; 

We dream of the hour when, with holy devotion, 
Thy people first welcomed our sires from the wave. 

And now thou art with us, thy eloquence daring 
May soar on the proud wings of triumph afar ; 

Mid scenes fraught with gladness does memory not bear 
thee, 
To watch with thy kindred love's fast-waning star ? 

"We love thy harangues, thy wild war-songs and story, 
Thy pine-wooded forests, now leafless and drear, 

The red man of nature, that battled in glory, 
And chased from its covert the fleet-footed deer. 

But mostly we cherish the hearts where the Spirit 
Hath planted its impress, all deathless and bright ; 

For the children of promise by birthright inherit 
The fountain of knowledge, that gloweth with light. 

Now, chief, thou wilt leave us : while absent, remember 
The friends who have welcomed thy coming to-day ; 

And fondly we '11 pray for the fate of that people 
Whose children, like spring-time, are passing away, 



74 A BUNCH OP PAXSIES. 



THE I X D I A 2f WIDOW'S DREAM. 

A lady one day, when walking down to the river, saw an Indian 
woman weaving moceasons, who told her she had dreamed, the 
night previous, that her husband (who had lately died) was cold 
and hungry in the hunting-grounds; and she was loading a light 
raft with food and clothing to send up the river to the Spirit Land* 
doubting not but it would reach its destination in safety. 

I dreamed of niy warrior. He stood alone 

By the ice-bound streams where the deer roams wild ; 
The rushing winds, with hollow moan, 

Were rocking the trees like a little child. 
He wandered on through that forest dim, 

He was cold and sad, and his heart was sore, 
No wio-wam fire burned bright for him, 

Xo evening meal when the hunt was o'er. 
The birds sang not in that far-off land, 

Nor came young Spring with its early flowers ; 
By hunger was weakened that powerful hand 

Whose stroke was death in this land of ours. 
His eye was dark, but the lightning's fire 

Would kindle there when the war-cry came; 
And the sons of the forest, with looks of ire, 

Would gather as one at Mehopac's name 
From valley green and rock-bound hill, 

From mountains high, where the antelopes rest, 
And the screamino- eao-le foreboded ill, 

As she folded her wings round her young ones' nest. 
But his voice was low as the curling wave 

That laves the shore where my baby sleeps : 
A lover fond and a warrior brave 

Is my hunter dear ; but — he weeps ! he weeps ! 



A BUKCH OF PALSIES. 75 

For the snow is cold, and his feet are bare, 
And he dreams of rne and his darling boy. 

If the Great Spirit answers the mourner's prayer, 
His heart shall be thrilling with only joy. 

With arrowy speed o'er the waters dark, 

With early fruits and the dew-gemmed flowers, 

And its burden of love, flew r that little bark, 

With tears impearled from her greenwood bowers. 



76 A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 



THE RETURN. 

Emotions of a JFrteno, fcrfjo, after long, aosence from ^ome, fcranfe tf)* Croton 
Water a fefo moments oefor* landing at Wemsgorn, 

All-hallowing Memory, holy, blest, 
Comes like the wind-harp's note at even, 

Soothing the spirit's sad unrest 

With glimpses of its promised heaven. 

Fond moment of terrestrial bliss ! 

In fancy's magic mirror bright, 
I feel a mother's fervent kiss, 

And hear a father's sweet Good-night. 

I Ve wandered from my boyhood's home, 

And stood beneath Italia's skies ; 
I 've trod thy streets, imperial Rome, 

And learned how earth-born splendor dies. 

In sunny France, 'mid England's bowers, 
And Scotland, with its varied view 

Of rocky glens and lovely flowers — 
Each fairy haunt how well I knew ! 

And mused o'er Erin's shamrock green, 

So precious to each Irish heart, 
Till in the faded past were seen 

Its glories from the dust to start. 

I 'm turning from these scenes away, 
To thee, my boyhood's happy home ; 

To the fond friends of early day, 

Like the lone, wandering dove, I come. 



A BUNCH OF PAKSIES. 77 

And while I quaff the waters bright, 

Dear Croton, of thy crystal stream, 
Unnumbered airy dreams of light 

Around my truant fancy beam. 

Light of my life art thou to me, 

Sweet Home, my first and latest star ; 

I never knew how dear thou 'dst be, 
Till I had wandered thus afar. 

So, sacred Nile, thy sons for thee 

Would weep in Cashmere's lovely vale, 

Look wildly on Marmora's sea, 
Nor heed Arabia's spicy gale ; 

But sigh for Egypt's pleasant stream, 

That washed their sunny land the while : 

Day's star of hope, night's dearest dream, 
Were the sweet waters of the Nile. 



78 A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 



THE REASONS WHY I DO NOT DRIXK. 

Wixitten ig request, in ansfoer to a puce of an opposite character fof)tcf) 
appeared tit a £it$ Sountai. 

I DRixK not — for the soul of man, 

In God's own image made, 
Should shun the withering glance of shame, 

And triumph undismayed : 
For oh ! it is a god-like grace, 

Integrity of soul ; 
It cheers us with a brighter charm 

Than gilds the flowing bowl. 

I drink not — for the dove-like tones 

Of children greet mine ears ; 
I think on vows of nuptial love, 

Baptized in hallowed tears. 
The golden threads by angels woven, 

That hearts together link, 
Are sundered by the touch of sin — 

That 's why I will not drink. 

I drink not — though life's devious paths 

Be oft perplexed and dark, 
And shoals of care, and reefs of wrong, 

Wreck many a fragile bark. 
Watching the polar star of hope, 

My life's sure compass mine, 
Fearless I breast the howling storm, 

But shun the tempting wine. 



A BUNCH OF PAJSTSIES. 79 

I drink not — though a woman's scorn 

Should fling its keenest dart, 
Or quench the hopes of loving years, 

And desolate my heart, 
Friends cease to smile, and all the wells 

Of sympathy dry up, 
Though ne'er a star should light my way, 

Yet taste I not the cup. 

I drink not — in the soul of man 

Blooms many a precious flower, 
And languid misery longs to breathe 

Their fragrance and their power. 
The deeds within his virtue's scope 

Inspire my soul to think 
That soul 's an embryon for heaven — 

And so I will not drink. 



80 A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 



HOLY BIBLE. 

&n Impromptu, fcmt&n uittx wcd&titfl a 33ook*iHark. 

Dear Bible, book eternal ! 

Our chart on life's rough way, 
Oh ! let thy truths illumine 

Our spirits day by day. 

Bright words of consolation 
Are glowing on each page, 

And love's all tuneful teachings 
The Christian soul engage. 

Dear chart, thou blessed Bible, 
Thy precepts fraught with truth, 

Our talisman unfailing, 

And guiding star of youth. 

For when the aged pilgrim 

Is weary of the earth, 
Thy words of holy promise 

Tell of a purer birth. 



A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 81 

HEBREWS XI. 21. 

" And he worshipped, leaning on the top of his staff." 

The sun, resplendent o'er the eastern sky, 
Diffused the brilliance of his morning smile ; 
The bald, black mountains in that smile rejoiced, 
With sweetest flowers that bloomed around their base, 
And nature from her dormant state awoke, 
Reanimate with strength and vigor new. 
Men rose, the paths of honest toil to tread, 
Or love omniscient and supreme survey 
In every charm that decked the orient vale. 

Tears, from the hidden fountains of the soul — 

Earth's bitterest tears — were falling silently, 

As, with bowed heads and reverential air, 

The patriarchs fondly gathered round the bed 

That held the form of Israel, their sire. 

And childhood, with its artless smile of glee 

And loving heart and bird-like voice, was there, 

And wistful gazed up to a father's face, 

And read — enigma strange ! — dire sorrow's lines. 

Wooed by the breeze of love, the young ones laughed, 

Nor knew that tears were sorrow's tracery. 

So the gazelle, 'mid far Judea's hills, 

In flowery haunts by fond affection kept, 

Frolics unconscious of world of grief. 

The sun of Goshen glowed o'er tent and field, 
And, dazzling, seemed to mock the patriarch's woe. 



82 A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 

Yet, ah ! when anguish racks the human soul, 
And jars the strings affection's hand hath tuned, 
Till discord harsh grates on the weary sense, 
The heart heeds not the thrilling tones of joy, 
The smile of peace, or voice of gladdening hope. 

Now Israel's eye with lengthening days was dim ; 
For threescore years and ten, with restless step, 
The earth he trod, felt mingled joy and grief. 
His dim eye kindled with prophetic fire, 
As, leaning on his staff, he worshipped God. 
The hidden glories of the latter day 
Shone through the vista of unnumbered years, 
And the Eedeemer's everlasting arms 
Sustained his soul. He saw Immanuel's birth. 
The wand of peace his guardian angel waved, 
And Jacob's spirit with his fathers slept. 
The sunset ray waned on the mountain top, 
Kissed the still wave, and faded in the West. 



A BUXCH OF PALSIES. 83 



IX IEM0RIAM. 

It is related of the Rev. Dr. Croswell that, on the last Sunday 
of his life, after morning service in the Church of the Advent, Bos- 
ton, a poor blind boy was led into the vestry-room where he was 
disrobing. Dr. Croswell greeted him warmly, and remarked to 
him, " You and I will soon be where we can both see." Before 
night, the good priest was in that land where " there shall be no 
more darkness. 5 ' 

With penitential sorrow's smothered sigh, 

The earnest voice of fervent prayer went up. 

Oh, 'twas a holy time ! The sun's warm rays 

Through the long windows shed a softened light, 

Laden with solace for the heart bowed down. 

Triumphant pealed the organ's lofty notes, 

And Jubilate, sacred song, was heard 

Far, far along the incense-bearing breeze. 

The manna of a dying Saviour's love 

They freely gathered there, then parted all. 

The white-haired man, with trembling step, was there, 

In whose lone breast the lamp of faith burned bright. 

Meridian life, with quiet mien, was there ; 

For prayer's all-hallowing influence shed 

Unearthly peace athwart each billowy breast. 

The mother on her lovely offspring looked, 

And blessed her God that his undying grace 

Was budding in the souls of her sweet babes. 

Tears gathered in the sightless eyes of him 

"Who stood alone, unheeded by the throno-. 

Oh ! he had looked on nature's fairest things — 

The azure sky, with evening's lights begemmed, 



84 A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 

The young lambs skipping o'er the grassy lea, 
And lovely flowers, that with the rising sun 
Unfold their beauties to the zephyr's kiss. 
Now in Cimmerian night was he enwrapped. 
Through the long aisle they led him by the hand 
To his best friend, God's chosen messenger. 

" We are going home, we are going home, 
Where the blind shall for ever see, 
And bask for aye in the Lamb's pure light, 
And all tears shall be wiped away. 

" We are going home ! All, all is well 
In that blessed land of rest ; 
There thou and I shall together dwell, 
And sorrow shall fly each breast. 

" We are going home ! The light of faith 
Now beams with a brighter ray." — 
Thou hast gone to thy home ; for the path of death 
Led up to eternal day. 

The angelic throng with rapture opened wide 
The sarjphire gates of everlasting day. 
Jehovah bade his faithful servant come : 
Glory to God ! the saintly hosts replied. 
Tears fell on earth ; but resignation's voice 
Soothed every pang, and bade the tempest cease. 

Easter, 1852. 



A BUNCH OF PALSIES. 85 



"I KNOW THAT MY REDEEMER LIVETH." 

In an account of the death of Mr. C , it is recorded that these 

memorable words of Job escaped from his lips a few moments before 
he expired. 

Time is ebbing, life is fading, 

Like the hues of golden light ; 
Spectral forms mine eyes are shading — 

Is it death that dims my sight ? 
Glory to God ! for my Redeemer lives, 
His pitying ear my prayer of faith receives. 

Nearer, loved ones, round me hover, 

Closer round my dying bed, 
Ere life's fluttering pulse be over, 

Ere the vital spark be fled. 
Praise ye the Lord ! for my Redeemer lives, 
His blessed smile celestial comfort gives. 

Cease those burning tears of anguish, 

We are parting not for aye ; 
Why in hopeless grief thus languish ? 

Lift your bleeding hearts on high. 
"Weep not ! though death-damps lie upon my brow, 
I know that my Redeemer liveth now. 

Oh, how sweet, in life's bright morning, 

Pealed the holy Sabbath bell, 
With its note of angel warning, 

O'er the hill and distant dell ! 
Till wayward wanderers in their wild career, 
Passing the porch, knelt in the house of prayer. 



86 A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 

Then repentant tears of sorrow 

Gushed from hearts by guilt oppressed, 

Till the light of faith's glad morrow 
Taught the soul in Christ to rest — 

Taught grateful love its holiest theme to sing, 

Glory to God ! its Saviour and its King. 

Ere love's strongest ties are riven, 

And my earthly sojourn close, 
Sing, oh ! sing the songs of heaven, 

While my soul with rapture glows; 
For my Eedeemer lives, and death's dark way 
Beams with the splendor of eternal day. 

All is peace, though I am dying, 

For my blessed Lord is near; 
Dear ones round my couch are sighing, 

Yet I would not linger here ; 
No ! I would sweep the golden harps of love, 
Hosanna sing ! for my Redeemer reigns above. 



A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 87 



VERSES 

On the death of the daughter of Rev. Dr. Bellows, who was absent 
with his lady at the time. The child expressed a wish to see her 
parents, but said she was tired and could not wait, and hoped her 
" heavenly Father " would take her home. 

The angels pure from their homes of light 

Looked forth on the earth where a young child played ; 

Humility, love, and peace were bright 

In her soul, which was meet for their temple made. 

As a flower she bloomed too fair for earth, 
And they bore her away to a holier sphere, 

Where the high songs of glory alone have birth, 
For the roses of Eden are blooming there. 

I wish I could see thee, my mother dear, 
And feel thy kiss on my cheek to-day ; 

father, dear father, I fain would hear 

Thy voice, but I 'm weary and cannot stay. 

1 'm weary of earth. Oh, when will He come — 

My heavenly Father — and take me where 
I long to dwell, in my beautiful home, 

For God and the angels would love me there! 

All night do I hear them ; their songs of love 
Entrance my soul when you think I sleep ! 

Dear father, I 'in happy to pass above, 

For Christ in his bosom your child will keep. 



8 A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 

Hallelujahs then woke in the angel throng, 

There were tears on earth, there was joy in heaven ; 

For a sweeter note had the cherubim's song, 

When an infant all guileless and sinless was given, 

To dwell in the light of the Lord's blessed smile, 
The fountain of mercy, the day-star of love ; 

By the waters of life shall she rest the while, 
And with saints in the bliss of eternity move. 

Then weep not as hopeless ; 't was mercy's blest voice 
That called the sweet flower in its bloom away ; 

With the bright hosts of heaven triumphant rejoice, 
Her harp shall be tuned to a pure seraph's lay. 

Though ages on ages shall roll on their wings, 
High praises ecstatic unceasing shall rise ; 

Your voices shall blend with your child's as she sings 
" All glory to God," in her own natal skies. 



A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 

LINES 

&otrr*aseo to B*b. 3, OT. iHacomfar, at a Banation Vmt 

How sweet the bonds by angels wove, 
Gemmed with the dew of Christian love, 
Binding in tender sympathy 
The sons of immortality ! 

On glory's wings, divinely fair, 
Angels, methinks, are hovering near, 
Are bearing to Jehovah's throne 
The choicest praise of mortal tone. 

Oh ! weary not, thy vigil keep ; 
Good shepherd, feed thy Master's sheep ; 
Through vales of joy and shades of woe 
Let the young lambs thy footsteps know. 

Bright words of pure and blessed faith 
E'en beautify the shades of death, 
Solace the broken-hearted poor 
With hope till flickering life is o'er. 

Then fear thou not ; though waters dark 
Seem to o'erwhelm thy fragile bark, 
The murky clouds that veil thy sight 
Shall melt in everlasting light. 

The perfumed breath of incense sweet 
Is rising to the mercy-seat, 
And the low voice of holy prayer 
Is wafted to the Saviour's ear. 



90 A BUNCH OF PASTSIES. 

Dear friend ! remembrances like these 
Shall aid us o'er life's stormy seas ; 
Oases in the desert drear, 
They light the smiles of gladness here. 

If kindly interchange like this 
Of social thought enkindle bliss, 
Oh, who can tell the raptures given, 
When mortals wake the harps of heaven i 



A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 91 

CONFLAGRATION 

[<&t t&e MtfyoHizt <£f)urd& at patisfcurjj, N. !. 

Tranquil and holy was the Sabbath eve. 
The dying rays of crimson light had flung 
Their parting greeting to the summer flowers, 
Then veiled their beauty in the shades of heaven. 
Oh ! 't was an hour for contemplation high, 
"When the rapt soul on holy things might feast, 
And hold communion with the Great Supreme. 
On the soft breeze that stirred each leafy spray, 
Like angel music, came the voice of prayer ; 
For God's own people in the temple met, 
To pay their homage at His Son's dear feet. 
Angelic peace seemed brooding o'er the scene, 
Stamping her impress on each living thing. 

How suddenly is beauty changed to grief ! 
The azure sky with lurid flames grew bright, 
And hurried steps and words of anxious dread 
Broke on the ear like echo's mournful tones. 
The flames rolled high, the crackling timbers fell, 
Dome, roof and wall in burning ruin sank, 
And that fair house shall glad the eye no more. 

There found the heart by sorrowing sin oppressed 
All-glorious faith to dissipate its gloom ; 
The white-haired man, the widow desolate, 
And young hearts glowing with the light of hope, 
All knelt to bless a common Saviour there. 



92 A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 

The dear old bell, whose well-known voice was heard 
At life's bright dawning and its sunset hour, 
"With one vibration, long and loud, last fell. 
How seemed that thrilling tone to say, Farewell ! 
I shall ring no more on your festive day, 
When merry and blithe your children play, 
When joy lights up in the matron's eye, 
And the shadows of pleasure are flitting by. 
My story is told, and my time is o'er, 
Ye shall hear my voice no more — no more ! 
With tear-dimmed eyes, and hearts bowed down in grief, 
They heard the last sad sound — No more — no more ! 



A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 93 

KEY OF CONTENT. 

The sun rose up resplendently bright, 
And pencilled the ocean and earth with light ; 
The rivulets laughed in the glance of day, 
And the birds were singing from spray to spray. 

The fields were purple with ripening grain, 

And the voice of the reaper was heard again ; 

Joy ruled the blithe morning, with beauties besprent, 

And I asked why a daughter of earth should lament ? 

Then answered the beautiful sisterhood of flowers, 
" Anon will she weep in this world of ours ; 
She will weep, for the golden hues of bliss 
Melt away like the dew on the sunbeam's kiss." 

u Mid your flowery deeps so fragrant and bless'd, 

Oh ! may not her sorrows be soothed to rest ? " 

As the flowers shook their heads, they perfumed the air, 

And mournfully answered, " Not here — not here." 

O'er the rustic bridge of a brawling brook, 
That wound its way through a shady nook, 
And a cedar grove, I passed to find 
The balm of peace for the wounded mind. 
5* 



94 A BUNCH OF PA1STSIES. 

A mansion arose on the distant height, 
With its glittering dome in the sun's warm light; 
Its forest trees in their peaceful shade 
Embosomed a fountain, that warbled and played 
"With the silken flowers. Oh ! so sweetly fair 
Was that calm retreat from a world of care. 



Yet a lady stood on the portico, 
And mournfully gazed on the scene below ; 
Her brow was sad, and she breathed in sighs, 
And tears welled up in her hazel eyes. 

I deemed not that death's Cimmerian gloom 
Had cast its shade o'er her beauty's bloom ; 
But the tyrant with stealthy step had come, 
And broken her heart, and robbed her home. 
There lurked not the gleam of one blessed smile, 
To lighten her lip and her woes to beguile. 

Then I turned my steps to an old elm wood, 
By the noisy mill, where a cottage stood ; 
There daughters of poverty held their abode, 
Who bade me come in and partake of their food. 

Though I thought of the mansion all mantled in gloom, 

I still found the cottiers' a beggarly doom, 

Since few of earth's blessings to them had been given ; 

But they answered, " Our wealth is with Jesus in heaven, 

Where jewels are graces that garnish the blest, 

Afar from this world with its griefs and unrest." 



A BUJSTCH OF PANSIES. 95 

And the aged matron arose and took 

From its little stand a holy book : 

" Here gather," she cried, " faith, hope, and love, 

To gem thy soul for its home above." 



Each fingered page seemed a lamp of light, 
A beacon of hope to the child of night. 
Here, here let the sorrowing soul find rest, 
'T is the balm of peace for the bleeding breast ; 
Her rock of strength is the book of God, 
Her guiding star to His dear abode. 



A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 



TO CORNELIA, ON HER EIGHTEENTH BIRTHDAY. 

Thou art eighteen ! 
Thy childhood's bright and golden morn hath passed, 
So rich with joy that sorrow might not yield 
One deepening shade to dim its brightness o'er, 
And seraphs smiling blessed thine early time : 

Thou art eighteen! 

And life's bright roses, now so virgin sweet, 
Bestrew thy path and bid thee happy be ; 
Drink thou their fragrance, and thy soul may know 
A joy too pure, too blest, to die at eve : 

Thou art eighteen ! 



And dreams are thine — the soul's own dreams will come, 
Like spirit voices from another sphere ; 
Thy dark eye glows with an intenser light, 
And Hope weaves garlands for thy youthful brow : 

Thou art eighteen ! 



A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 97 



THE JOY OF MEETING WITH MY OLD FRIENDS. 

We meet again, and memory's light 

Is painting the happy past 
Of golden thought, with her pencil bright, 

In hues that shall ever last. 

We meet again, and each voice to me 

Is sweeter than music now ; 
Time hath not darkened one sparkling eye, 

Or shadowed one happy brow. 

I 'm sitting alone in my favorite nook, 
And the minstrels of morning sweet 

Are sportively singing from bough to bough, 
While the dog lies crouched at my feet. 

I 'm sitting alone, and the lowing herd 

Comes slowly from afar ; 
While the laborer, folding his toil-worn hands, 

Looks up at the evening star. 

I am not alone. No ; Emma, beloved, 

Thou, in accents mildly low, 
Art chanting the charms of each rock-ribbed hill, 

And the brook as it winds below. 

Yet, Caroline, thou art not here ; 

For a stronger love hath come, 
And borne thee away from thy parent's hearth 

To brighten yon sunny home. 



98 A BUJSTCH OF PASTSIES. 

Time flies apace on its silken wing ; 

Too soon must the parting word, 
Like the wind's low dirge on the stormy deep, 

From sorrowing lips be heard— 

Farewell. 



A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 99 



TO MY YOUNG FRIEND HENRY. 

Let not Ambition lure thee 

From the holier joys of Home ; 

From the fields where erst in boyhood 
Thy footsteps loved to roam, 

From gentle smiles and words more dear, 

From Love's warm kiss and Friendship's tear. 

If Fame, the enchanting siren, 

Thy buoyant soul beguile, 
And with her witching beauty 

Wake Hope's illusive smile, 
Still, transient as a calm at sea, 
That fitful smile of Hope will be. 

Peace hath a holier music, 

That dieth not away ; 
And blest Affection's incense 

Grows sweeter every day. 
So Time shall bear, on fleeting wing, 
No poisoned dart for Memory's sting. 

Calm as the gentle brooklet, 

That murmurs near thy home, 
May seraphs, robed in glory, 

Around thy death-couch come, 
And gates of Paradise unbar, 
Revealing Christ, thy morning star. 



100 A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 



TO MY OLD SCHOOL-MATE, 

Alice, do you remember 

How bright life's morning seemed, 
When, through the glass of fancy, 

The light of pleasure beamed ? 
How, like a transient meteor, 

Those happy moments passed — 
The golden hours of childhood, 

That could not, would not last ? 

Alice, do you remember 

Our Sabbath-school so dear ? 
The precepts, fraught with mercy, 

That won each listening ear i 
How, in God's temple kneeling, 

With contrite hearts, we said 
The sacred prayers together — 

The sacred lessons read ? 

Alice, do you remember 

The parting tears that wet 
Cheeks of the loved, who fain 

Would linger with us yet ? 
Now, each through life so lonely 

Must take her separate way, 
And grief or joy alternate 

Will lend its shade or ray. 



A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 101 

The path we Ve trod is rugged ; 

For grief's most poignant dart 
Hath pierced, with shaft unerring, 

Each young and trusting heart ; 
Yet let us bear it meekly, 

Our lot of suffering here, 
Till Faith's celestial morrow 

Shall dry the mourner's tear. 



102 A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 



TO THE MISSES B . 

We meet again ! Since last we met, 
How many loved have passed away ; 

How many golden suns have set, 
Yet left a bright and cheering ray ! 

We meet again ! but not in tears ; 

For friendship's pure, immortal chain 
Hath linked the past of many years, 

And wreathed the flowers of joy again. 

We meet again ! But pleasure's light 
Hath wooed you, with its magic smile 

Of more than rainbow's beauty bright, 
Lulling to sleep each care the while. 

And Christmas, ever hallowed time 

Of festive joy and holy mirth, 
Proclaimed to earth's remotest clime 

The tidings of a Saviour's birth. 

And heaven's unnumbered myriads sang, 
" Glory to God." Earth caught the sound, 

And infant hallelujahs rang, 

While peace celestial beamed around. 

We meet again ! Your voices dear, 
With love's own music, greet me now ; 

Grief hath not left a darkening tear 
Or shadow on one youthful brow. 



A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 103 



TO MISS FRANCES CROSBY, 

When the songs of birds are still, 
And the evening light apace 

Steals o'er valley, glade, and hill, 
In some quiet place ; 

Wilt thou not recall the time 
When we together sought 

Flowerets of the soul to twine 
Wreaths of happy thought ? 

Then we sang our evening hymn, 

And the angels smiled, 
Through the night obscure and dim, 

On each sleeping child. 

Fancy, robed in rosy light, 

Lured our youthful footsteps on, 

And her mem'ry still is bright, 
Though its hues are gone. 

Friendship in our later years 
Binds us with a holier tie, 

And suspicious doubts and fears 
Pass unheeded by. 

Thus through life's mysterious vale, 
Dearest, hand in hand we '11 walk, 

And the summer's balmy gale 
Fan us while we talk. 



104 A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 



TO ELLEN V. WALLACE. 

While the fragrant breath of balm 
Sheds its sweetness on the air, 
Holy meditation calm 
Greets me here. 

Happy thoughts of worlds more bright 
Soothe me in my tranquil hours, 
"Where the Lamb gives only light 
In Eden's bowers. 

Breathing softly o'er my soul, 
Friendship speaks in hallowed tone, 
" Though unending ages roll, 
We are one " 

While we linger here on earth, 
Parting tears may dim the eye ; 
But the heirs of angel birth 
Never sigh. 

Love, that sweetly binds us here, 
Braids in heaven a purer chain, 
Where for ever on the ear 
Falls the strain ; — 

Praise to Him who died that Wv 
Might for ever reign above, 
Singing through eternity, 
God is Love. 



A BUNCH OF PALSIES. 105 



THE HOX. THOMAS HEETELL. 

There lived a beauty in his soul, 
More rich than intellectual splendor ; 

A something, 'neath whose sweet control 
The spirit grew more gently tender, 

More ano^el-like, till life's last seeming 

Was the bright dawn of glory's beaming. 

In senate was his honored name 
With every blessed virtue blended ; 

Round him the poor, the orphan came, 
His pity deep their lot befriended, 

Till the crushed heart, o'ercharged with sorrow, 

Joyed in the glance of hope's bright morrow. 

Time stole the gems whose radiant light 
O'er thronged assemblies shone resplendent, 

Then bloomed a flower far hid from sight, 
Celestial love its dear attendant : 

The flower whose odorous breath eternal 

Kept the lone heart of age still vernal. 

They ran to meet him when he 'd pass, 
The little ones from school returning ; 

E'en the young chickens on the grass 

His faithful hand fed night and morning ; 

Then low before his Maker kneeling, 

He breathed the words of holy feeling. 



106 A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 

They shed the last and bitter tear 

O'er that still heart, now hushed for ever ; 

Life had no charm to bind him here, 
Or from the blest his soul to sever. 

Angels proclaimed the joy fid story, 

Earth tuned another harp to glory. 



A BUNCH OF PASTSIES. 107 



ON THE BIRTHDAY EVE OF ME. FLOYD SMITH. 

How tranquil, yet how fleeting, 

Old Time's resistless wing 
Hath borne thee from life's morning, 

Her bright and beauteous spring. 

For threescore years have glided, 

Unmarked by sad decay, 
The pale, dead flowers of sorrow, 

On hearts to grief a prey. 

Thy birthday eve is passing, 
And hearts in concord move, 

While words of fond endearment 
Knit close the ties of love. 

Thy birthday eve still precious 
To each glad heart shall be, 

A garden in life's desert, 
A holy memory. 

Still shall thy days be joyous, 

For thou art dear to God, 
And seraphs clad in glory 

Look from their bless'd abode, 

And tell, when life is over, 
And earth's last ties are riven, 

How sweet the harp whose hymnings 
Shall ope the gates of heaven. 



108 A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 



LINES ON THE DEATH OF MR. SITTER. 

Blest are the righteous dead in Christ who sleep, 

"Whose fight is fought, whose glorious triumph won — 

The fight of faith in penitence and prayer. 

Thrice happy they who in the springtime yield 

Their hearts to Him at whose command 't was light ; 

Who turn aside from pleasure's perilous path, 

And give, like him, their energies to Heaven. 

He kept the vigil at his Master's side, 

Living submissive to the will of God 

From life's bright morning till its closing eve ; 

And though at times a passing cloud would throw 

A shade of darkness o'er his sunniest hopes, 

His inner faith the gloom would penetrate. 

His heart was fragrant with the breath of love, 

By holy converse hallowed was each thought. 

Time placed, alas ! the signet of his power 

On that high brow radiant with lofty thought, 

Yet glowed the heart when dimm'd the expressive eye, 

Still might ye hear, as rolled the solemn chant, 

A voice, how feeble ! mingling in the strain. 

With earnest zeal, till the long Fast was through, 

He sought the manna of the Spirit's grace ; 

Immortal Peace folded her pinions fair, 

And made her dwelling in that humble breast. 

In harmony had prayer his soul attuned 

With the sweet notes which angels wake above ; 

What wonder then if seraphs claimed their own, 

Ere yet the heaven-caught tones had passed away, — 

Passed, did I say ? — oh, no ! they are with you still : 



A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 109 

The good man's deeds vibrate on memory's strings, 
And gather sweetness from increasing years. 
Then weep no more, for in yon fields of light 
He wakes Hosanna to the King of kings ; 
But tranquil rest, till calm the sun of life 
Shall set to rise in everlasting day. 



110 A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 

MEMENTO OF FRIENDSHIP. 

Co jEr. ®. ?^art. 

There's music in my soul to-day, 
For friendship's soft and soothing lay 

Makes all its pulses thrill 
With gladness ; and the notes of love 
In tuneful measure sweetly move, 

When ruder thoughts are still. 

At such an hour of holy peace, 
When day's tumultuous passions cease, 

I sweep the lyre for thee : 
Of rosy hope on starry wing, 
And feeling's fadeless flowers, I sing, 

Blooming eternally. 

Long may. thy gentle soul enshrine 
Those sacred flowers whose breath divine 

Hallows each passing thought, 
And light the deepening night of woe 
With pure affection's holiest glow, 

With joy and pleasure fraught. 

Where'er thy changing lot be cast 
By fickle fortune's wayward blast, 

Oh ! still may friendship dear, 
With loving words and tender strain, 
Wake hope's perennial smile again, 

And dry the falling tear. 



A BUNCH OF PANSIES. Ill 

And when life's shaded eve shall come, 
When thoughts of thine all-glorious home 

Round thy pure spirit throng, 
May glittering hosts in bright array 
Triumphant waft thy soul away 

To swell the angelic song. 

But generous hearts for thee shall weep, 
And fondly in their bosoms keep 

Thy blessed memory; 
The radiance of thy life shall shed 
A halo round thy lowly bed, 

And heavenward follow thee. 



112 A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 



A TRIBUTE TO MY JfATIYE TOWN. 

£o iftr. William £cott, mg Itm^trieti antr mudjJafcett jFwtrti, tf)ts little 
effusion is gratefullg inscrifcrtj. 

Sweet home of my childhood, dear land of my fathers ! 

Thy name and thy mem'ry how sacred to me ! 
The birds of the morning, the star-lighted evening, 

And murmuring waters are whispering of thee ! 

The heather-clad vale and cleft rocks of the mountain, 
The violet, the harebell and primrose so fair, 

The lessons I conned ere the heart's warm emotions 
Were chilled by ambition or clouded with care. 

How mantled my cheek as I wept o'er the story 
Of Bruce the intrepid and Wallace the brave, 

Who wove for their country a chaplet of glory, 
And found in her bosom a hero's proud grave. 

They 've passed like the sunbeam that laughed on the ocean ; 

Then, Hawick,* dear town, where in boyhood I played, 
Thou, thou art the light of my soul's deep devotion, 

With the streamlet that gladdens thy blossoming glade ! 

I 'm passing away, but the fragrance of memory 
Is cheering my soul with its exquisite breath, — 

I 'm passing away, but life's last fainting accents 

Shall bless thee, dear Hawick ! yea, bless thee in death ! 

* Pronounced Hyack. 



A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 113 



VERSES FOR AN ALBUM. 

While I tune my harp to sing, 
Laughing Hope, on silken wing, 
Whispers, " Sing of me alone." 
Shall I list her dulcet tone ? 

No ! a holier, purer light 
Stealeth on the still, still night. 
Dear Religion murmurs low, 
" I will solace every woe ; 

" I will soothe each boding care, 
Wipe away each nightly tear : 
Tune thy tongue to songs divine, 
And make thy heart my spirit's shrine." 

Blest Religion, Heaven-born light, 
Shining through affliction's night, 
Gathering radiance day by day, 
Fading not through time's decay — 

May its bright celestial beam, 
Ever round thy pathway gleam ! 
When the gathering tempests lower, 
Bend the knee, for prayer hath power. 



114 A BUNCH OP PANSIES. 



TIE POWER OF A SISTER'S LOYE. 

CHAPTEE I. 

The ruddy hues of golden sunlight were fast melting into 
the blue and purple of evening, and silvery clouds, in fan- 
tastic shapes, were floating one above another, as if the spirits 
of mirth were keeping holiday in their airy heights. It 
is a fit hour for contemplation, thought I, when the calm 
spirit, free from the turmoil and vexations of the day, may 
gratefully read the glorious book of nature, and hold sweet 
converse with its divine Author. 

Thus soliloquizing, I ascended a little hill, and seated 
myself on a moss-covered rock that overlooked a small 
stream, which wound its way through the peaceful valley. 
But my attention was soon arrested by the figure of a person 
standing on the margin of the stream. He was apparently 
young, below medium height, and rather slender. His in- 
tellectual brow bore the traces of bitter grief and untimely 
care, and his dark eye glowed with intense feeling. 

" Ah ! unfortunate wretch," he wildly exclaimed, " where 
are now the gossamer day-dreams of ambition in which 
my young spirit loved to indulge, and the bright hopes 
that gilded the horizon of my future ? All blighted by 
one untimely blow. Oh ! I could bear the lot of penury 
and disappointment to which I am doomed, were it not for 
my dearer self, my only beloved sister. Oh ! could I but 
shield her from the sufferings incident to such a life, I could 
be resigned to my fate, and proudly meet the contemptuous 
treatment of the author of my misery. I feel myself a man, 



A BUNCH OF PASTSIES. 115 

and could fearlessly act rny part on the world's arena. But, 
alas ! I cannot shield the delicate flower committed to my 
charge from its cruel storm. Heaven knows, the hot tears 
that course each other down my cheek are not selfish." 

Just then the moon, full-orbed and beautiful, rose, and 
shed its pensive light over the care-worn features of the weep- 
ing stranger. His extreme youth, his high appreciation of the 
intellectual advantages so recently lost, joined to the warmth 
and tenderness of his affection for his only sister, awakened 
a more than common interest in my mind. But his grief 
was a sacred thing, and I felt that I had no right to intrude 
on him at such a time, even though impelled by the most 
generous feeling. I therefore took my way quietly to my 
lodgings, and determined, on the ensuing day, to make every 
effort to find out the object that had so deeply engaged my 
feelings ; but those to whom I addressed myself seemed 
ignorant of the very existence of such a family, and I was 
obliged to abandon the attempt. At three o'clock, I was 
seated in the office of my solicitor, testing the validity of a 
life-insurance policy which I had just received. A pause 
ensued in our conversation, when my companion, looking up 
from a paper before him, said drily : 

" What strange people there are living in this world !" 

"Now, really, what could induce you to make this re- 
mark V I inquired. 

" I was thinking," he replied, " of an odd old gentleman 
with whom I happened to be slightly acquainted. 

" An old bachelor friend of mine, lately deceased, had two 
orphan nephews, (Clarence and Stephen,) entirely dependent 
on him for support. These were receiving a liberal educa- 
tion at his expense, and he designed to divide his estate, con- 
sisting of two hundred thousand, between them. Mr. F. had 



116 A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 

been travelling for the past two years in Europe, and relied 
upon the correspondence of an intimate friend for information 
respecting them. 

" Unfortunately for poor Clarence, this gentleman was a 
distant relative of Stephen's, who used every opportunity to 
depict in glowing colors the amiable disposition and high 
attainments of his favorite, and deprecated the want of these 
excellences in Clarence. He frequently spoke of his fond- 
ness for foolishly spending money, and even hinted at the 
possibility of bringing disgrace upon his uncle. The old man 
was kind-hearted and well-meaning, but wanting in that 
penetration which would enable another more deeply read in 
the mysteries of human nature to detect at a glance the false 
hues in the portraits so adroitly sketched. One day, after 
reading one of these communications, he felt that it would 
be an unpardonable sin to endow with wealth a youth so 
extravagant and ungrateful as Clarence might prove. Ac- 
cordingly, he bequeathed the whole of his fortune to Stephen. 
I do the old gentleman the justice to believe that, had he 
survived his illusion, he would have amended this unfair dis- 
position of his property ; but the next day he expired of ap- 
oplexy. 

" Clarence was taken from the university, and, with his 
only sister, exposed to all the ills of poverty, while Stephen 
is surrounded with every luxury that wealth can procure." 

" This is the information I have been seeking all day," I 
replied. I then related the last night's occurrence, and ex- 
pressed my wish to aid this afflicted youth to the utmo?t of 
my abilities. 

CHAPTSB II. 

The gray tints of twilight found me seated upon the same 
rock I had before occupied. The brother was standing upon 



A BUJSTCH OF PALSIES. 117 

the bank of the stream, and with him his sister, a girl of 
twelve years. Her dark-blue eyes were suffused with tears, 
as she raised them to her brother's face, and read the wild 
and despairing expression of his countenance. 

" Oh ! brother, dear brother, you frighten me," she ex- 
claimed ; " you are so unlike yourself." 

" Do not say so, dearest ; you are the idol of my soul." 

" Then will you not smile on me ?" 

" I cannot ; my heart is breaking." 

" What makes you so sad ? I love you." 

"We are poor ; we are beggars." 

" Jesus was a poor man, the only Son of God ; and I 
know our Father in heaven loves us, or he would not make 
us like his Son." 

" Indulge the pleasing thought," he replied ; " but I must 
be revenged on the wretch who has ruined us." 

" Oh ! brother, I implore you by the prayers of our dear 
dead mother." 

" Hush, Ada ; human nature cannot endure the wrongs 
which I suffer. He must feel the bitterest of my wrath." 

"Brother, will you grant me one little favor?" she said, 
throwing her arms about his neck, and kissing him affection- 
ately. 

" I will, dearest." 

" Come with me, then, to our mother's grave." 

Thither I also directed my steps. The eye of a stranger 
is frequently pained by the marks of neglect visible in country 
church-yards. Here, however, it was not so. Beautiful 
flowers were blooming around many of the grass-covered 
graves, evidently planted there by the friends and relatives 
of the departed, and the branches of the plane-tree and weep- 
ing willow trembled in the night breeze. In a remote corner 



118 A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 

knelt our two friends. The pent-up feelings of the young 
man found utterance, and he wept long and loudly. The 
silence was at length broken by his sister. 

" I love to come and weep here ; for sometimes the angels 
speak to me, and tell me to be a patient, good girl, and I 
shall soon come home to glory and my mother. But, 
brother, I should not like to be there without you. Do you 
remember the dear old Bible from which we learned our Sun- 
day-school lessons ?" 

" Yes ; a train of holy recollections are sweeping over my 
soul." 

" Then, will you not forgive our enemy ?" 

" What ! shall the wretch who ruined us be unharmed ?" 

" ' Vengeance is mine ; I will repay, saith the Lord.' 
Wait God's time, dear Clarence." 

" I would try, if you were not so helpless, and I so poor." 

" Our Father in heaven will send you a friend : He always 
hears our prayers." 

" Sister, I will go home. You are the only star left to 
shed a beam of light over my darkened way ; and if the 
morrow shall bring me one generous friend, or lend a ray of 
hope, I will henceforth dedicate my powers to the glory of 
God. Thy love, dear one, is the spell that binds me to vir- 
tue. You are my better angel." Thus saying, he led her 
silently from the grave. 

Highly gratified that it was in my power to effectually aid 
one so young and interesting, who, from his unprotected and 
friendless situation, seemed standing on the brink of ruin, 
and grateful for the providential care of that God without 
whose notice even a sparrow cannot fall to the ground, I re- 
tired to rest. My imagination indulged pleasing dreams of 
the future prosperity and honor of Clarence, and the piety 
and usefulness of his gentle sister. 



A BTOs T CH OF PAKSIES. 119 

CHAPTSB IIL 

When the first rays of golden light had tinged the eastern 
skies, I arose to meditate upon what plan I could best pro- 
ceed. I dispatched a note to Clarence, requesting his pres- 
ence at my room at eleven o'clock, 

He seemed somewhat embarrassed as he entered. The 
wild, despairing look of the night previous had given place 
to a placid and resigned expression. After shaking him cor- 
dially by the hand, I requested him to be seated, and said : 

" I saw you at your mother's grave, and heard the earnest 
pleadings of your sister in behalf of virtue and forgiveness. 
God has sent me to be the friend for whom you prayed." 

He clasped his hands, and, with his eyes raised to heaven, 
exclaimed : " I thank thee, O our Father in heaven !" 

<; And now, Clarence, you must implicitly confide in me. 
I have no relatives who have claims upon my wealth ; and 
I shall take much pleasure in increasing your happiness. 
You shall be sent to the university from which you were so 
recently taken. But come, I must first see your sister." 

A short walk brought us to a pretty cottage, half hid from 
view by a clump of elm trees. As we were passing through 
the little gate, Clarence said : " In this cottage I was born, 
and here my mother died ; but yesterday it was sold to de- 
fray the expenses of our maintenance." 

Ada was reading the Bible as I entered. She cast a timid 
glance to her brother, who, coming forward, said affection- 
ately : " Dear Ada. God has answered our prayers." 

Her eyes sparkled with joy as she said, " I knew it would 
be so : mother told us that Jesus would always answer the 
petitions of fai 

" And will you love me, my little girl i n I asked. 



120 A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 

" Yes ; for you are sent to us from heaven, and I know 
you will be very kind." 

After leaving them, I determined to purchase the cottage 
so sacred to the memory of these poor orphans. This ar- 
rangement was soon effected. Mrs. S., a lady of rare accom- 
plishments and integrity of character, I had frequently heard, 
kept a small boarding-school a few miles distant from the 
village. Under the care of this lady I placed my young 
ward, who was delighted at the thought of having so many 
little girls to love and to play with. Before bidding her 
good-bye, I enjoined upon her the necessity of frequently 
writing to me. Her letters breathed the feelings of a loving 
and gentle heart, deeply imbued with the holy lessons learned 
from the Book of Life. 

Clarence attained the highest collegiate honors. Now the 
world lay before him, and nature and education had well 
prepared him to act a creditable part in its scenes. I sug- 
gested that the bar would afford the widest scope for the 
exercise of his splendid talents, and perhaps lead him to dis- 
tinction. " Dear friend," he replied, " I cannot devote my- 
self to the profession of law. When I stood with my sister 
at the grave of my mother, in the presence of God and the 
bright throng of holy angels, who watch over the destinies 
of mortals, I promised that, if the morrow would but lend 
one ray of hope, I would dedicate myself to the glory of my 
Creator. You came to brighten the way of the lonely or- 
phan, and you have acted the part of a parent. I am deeply 
grateful ; but duty and inclination alike prompt me to fulfil 
that sacred vow." 

I placed him in charge of a distinguished divine, under 
whose care he pursued his theological studies with zeal and 
success. After receiving the holy rite of ordination, he was 



A BUNCH OF PALSIES. 121 

settled in one of the larger villages of Western New-York. 
Here the beautiful reading of the service, and his earnest and 
persuasive eloquence, won the hearts and charmed the ears 
of his congregation; while the gentleness and humility 
which characterized his manners made him an especial 
favorite with the poor. 

What has become of Ada ? I hear the reader impatiently 
ask. This young lady, after leaving school, resided in the 
cottage with an old friend of her mother's, and became the 
idol of the village. Her rare accomplishments and graceful 
manners caused her to be much admired by the other sex. 
There was a suitor, who would gladly have led her to the 
altar ; but he was a stranger to the blessed influences of re- 
ligion, and lightly esteemed its teachers ; and she compre- 
hended how miserable must be her fate if for ever obliged 
to associate with one who entertained his unhappy opinions. 
His great wealth could not tempt her to wander from the 
path of duty. 

Clarence frequently acknowledged the power of a sister's 
love, and felt its memory to be the richest treasure in a 
brother's soul. 

Ten years have passed, and while Ada gently returns the 
pressure of my hand, and her bright blue eyes, full of tender- 
ness, look so lovingly upon me, my readers must forgive me 
for confessing that to remain an old bachelor any longer is 
a moral impossibility. 



122 A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 



ON THE DEATH OF HENRY CLAY. 

The nation is weeping, the tears of the brave 
Are falling like dew on the patriarch's grave ; 
The aged are weeping, the youthful and gay, 
For the glory of Ashland is passing away. 

But the praises of millions shall brighten his fame, 
For the lustre of virtue ennobled his name. 
'T was the idol and star of Columbia that fell, 
And the sighs of her people are sounding his knell. 

He heeded not self, for immaculate truth 

Was enshrined in his soul from his earliest youth ; 

A mother's affection had planted it there, 

And it gathered fresh vigor with each rolling year. 

When around us Disunion was casting its shade, 
When the Senate was trembling, the nation dismayed, 
He rose in the dark, like a pillar of light ; 
His genius alone could their interests unite. 

He spoke, and the gathering thousands were still, 
And the murmur of discord was hushed at his will : 
His life was his country's, her blood-purchased soil 
Was the theme of his hope and the end of his toil. 

He has gone to repose with the blessing of God, 
And the tears of Columbia still moisten his sod : 
At the tomb of his rest,. in the still hush of even, 
A tribute to genius and virtue be given. 



A BUNCH OF PALSIES. 123 



TO MARGARET. 

Friendship, a pure and changeless flower, 

Whose placid smile shall be 
The light of every lonely hour, 

Sister, I offer thee. 

It will not fade, though rolling years 

May steal life's joys away ; 
No, ever beautiful, through tears 

More brightly beams its ray. 

Yes, when each airy dream is o'er, 

By truant fancy wove, 
And youthful sports delight no more, 

And age descends on love ; 

Then shall this flower its fragrance bring, 

And purest peace impart ; 
And, like the ivy, fondly cling 

More closely round the heart. 

Then take this pure and changeless flower, 

Whose placid smile shall be 
The light of every lonely hour, 

Sister and friend, to thee, 



124 A BUNCH OF PAETSIES. 



TO A FRIEO, WITH A VIOLET. 

Ye have carolled your parting lay, sweet birds, 
And the evening glow hatli come, 

And my heart, like a worn and weary thing, 
Hath sighed for its starry home. 

Oh, they say that the bowers are ever bright, 
And unheard are the accents of woe, 

That the language is music and love, 
In the land where my spirit would go. 

Yet a voice whispers soft on the air, 
These scenes thou wilt visit no more ; 

And my heart sadly echoes the word, 
Our day-dream of gladness is o'er. 

Then take the sweet violet, beloved, 
'T is the offering of friendship to thee ; 

It is prized by the modest and pure — 
Oh ! cherish it fondly for me. 

So live that the lustre of hope 

May be blended with mercy's sweet ray, 
And the incense of charity pour 

Its fragrance o'er life's thorny way. 

When the twilight hath mantled the earth, 
Then come to our evergreen bower, 

And, if spirits revisit our world, 
I '11 come in this beautiful flower. 



A BUNCH OF PAJNTSIES. 125 

I would sing to the broken in heart 

The song of the children of light, 
And tell the glad tidings of bliss, 

From the land ever blooming and bright. 

Then take the sweet violet, beloved, 
'T is the offering of friendship to thee ; 

It is prized by the modest and pure — - 
Oh ! cherish it fondly for me. 



126 A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 



TO MISS A US A SMITH, 



fjo, oennj preoentetr og ftllness from attetrtimaj Cfjurcfj on ^rtstmaa, 
trestreU me to firing fjer a &fjrtstma0s (Screen. 



Hark ! from the portals of the skies, 

Celestial strains are heard, 
And heaven's eternal armies sing 

" Glory to Christ, the Lord." 

Say, mortals, shall your tongues be mute 

On this high festival ? 
No ; let the holy carol rise, 

Whose strain becomes you well. 

Forth to the sacred courts of God 

So joyfully repair ; 
I '11 keep the Christmas in my heart, 

Though I may not be there. 

Then from the holy altar bring 
One Christmas-green to me — 

A dear memento of the Church 
I love so tenderly. 

The glowing tints of health you loved 
Passed from my cheeks away ; 

E'en hope seems veiled in starless night, 
Yet I '11 not weep to-day. 



A BU1STCH OF PANSIES. 127 

A low, still voice is whispering joy ; 

I join the choral lay :j 
I feel, I know the Saviour smiles ; 

I cannot weep to-day. 

Oh ! then from God's own altar bring 

One Christmas-green to me — 
A dear memento from the Church 

I love so tenderly. 



128 A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 



EEST ON TIE ROCK. 

I dreamed ; and my mother stood by me. I was -weeping ; she 
said : " Cynthia ! do not weep. Rest on the Rock. Christ is the 
Rock 1 Rest thou on Him." 

'T is midnight. Now, in slumber lost, 
They dream the passing hours away ; 

I only wake, and Memory's lamp 
Lights up her pure and hallowed ray 

That burned in days of innocence, 
Made holy by a mother's prayer ; 

Days sacred to affection's birth, 

For oh ! a mother's smile was there. 

But she has gone, and since that time 
How many clouds have frowned above 

The skies, so tranquil and serene 
When guarded by maternal love ! 

One night — oh, 't was a pleasing dream ! — 

I looked upon my mother dear ; 
The melody of that sweet voice 

Fell, as of old, upon mine ear. 

" Weep not, my child, though thou art left 
Alone, life's thorny way to tread ; 
Rest on the Rock ! and Christ shall be 
A pillow to thy sinking head. 



A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 129 

" Rest on the Rock ! Christ is the Rock 

Of ages ; be thy refuge there P 

Then to the realms of light she flew, 

And left upon my cheek a tear. 

" Rest on the Rock P Those precious words 
The safeguard of my life shall be : 
Let me not fall, when lured to sin — 
Oh, aid me, Christ, to rest on Thee ! 



130 A BUNCH OF PALSIES. 



TO MY MOTHER IN HEAVEN. 

Ah ! I have heard sweet voices here — 

Voices that gave my spirit joy, 
Tones that had power my heart to cheer, 

Should sorrow e'er my peace alloy ; 
And though I loved those tones to hear, 
'T was not thy voice, my mother dear. 

When sickness racked my feeble frame, 
Strangers have kindly o'er me smiled, 

And soothing words of comfort breathed, 
In tones that oft my heart beguiled ; 

Then from thy bright and starry sphere, 

Oh ! bless that deed, my mother dear. 

And in my dreamy slumbers oft, 

My mother, I have heard thy voice, 
In soft angelic whispers, breathe 

Words that have made my heart rejoice : 
** Fear not, my child ; 't is thine to share 
My glory in the upper air." 

In duty's path still I '11 pursue, 

Thy precepts ever I '11 obey, 
And hope, when life's rude storms have passed, 

To dwell with thee in endless day. 
Life's many ills I 'Jl calmly bear, 
If thou but smile, my mother dear. 



A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 131 

Yes, when earth's pilgrimage is o'er, 
My soul may wing its flight above, 

There with the angel choir to wake 
Anthems of never-dying Jove ; 

And in that bright, celestial sphere, 

I '11 see thy face, my mother dear. 



1S2 A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 



RENUNCIATION OF THE WORLD. 

I renounce thee, O world ! with thy pleasures so bright, 
Mere phantoms, the breath of a moment may blight ; 
Bright visions may beam, yet, e'en while we gaze, 
Like dark clouds they vanish 'midst starlight's soft blaze. 

Ah ! sister, I 'm weeping o'er childhood's bright day, 
Like sweet summer flowers, too soon pass'd away ; 
A withering blast on my spirit has come, 
And sorrow has made this lone bosom its home. 

Then chide me not, sister, but bid me farewell, 

For I must away to the convent's lone cell ; 

My heart-strings are breaking, though e'er its deep tone 

Resounds to the praise of the Father alone. 

Yet I '11 not forget thee ; no, sister most dear, 
In my heart's best affections still, still shalt thou share ; 
At calm vesper hour shall my prayer rise for thee — 
" Ye angels of mercy, her kind guardians be." 

May truth, love, and mercy around thee still beam, 
Nor dark cares, intrusive, disturb thy bright dream ; 
At life's peaceful sunset thy last breath be given, 
Like incense from flowers, to float into heaven. 

How blest be our joys, when our spirits are fled 
Where the sigh is not heard, and the tear is not shed ; 
With our harps sweetly tuned to the anthems of love, 
How calm may we rest in the regions above ! 



A BUXCH OF PANSIES. 133 



HAPPY THOUGHTS. 

They charm my soul at the daylight's close, 

When the dew-drop hath spangled the breast of the 

rose ; 
In the forest dim, by the mountain stream, 
Far sweeter than music their voices seem ; 
In the pleasant haunt, in the greenwood bowers, 
Around me they scatter unfading flowers ; 
In the midnight watch, at the day's first peep, 
Happy thoughts are the first to awake me from sleep ; 
Companions unfailing, they 're faithful and true, 
Deception ne'er sullied their beautiful hue. 
And oh ! when the bright dreams of pleasure are gone, 
And hope's rosy garlands lie withered and strewn ; 
When, weary of sighing, and shrouded in gloom, 
Heart-stricken thou seek'st but the rest of the tomb ; 
If thou hast remember'd the sick and the poor, 
Nor turn'd the sad orphan unfed from thy door, 
There 's comfort in heaven, poor wand'rer, for thee, 
As welcome from angels thy happy thoughts be. 
Thou wilt find, when the will of our Father is done, 
The hard battle fought, and the victory won, 
Each trial, each pang, if resign'd thou hast borne, 
Is a glorious jewel thy crown to adorn. 



134 A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 

LINES WRITTEN ON NEW-YEAR'S EVE, 

&nTj respsctfullg ©efcuataj to tyz 3fteo. 3@r. <£ci. 

Ere Morpheus wooed each sense to rest. 
The Muse came whisp'ring in my ear, 

And bade me wake one kindly lay, 
A greeting for a friend so dear. 

Prosperity, and peace, and love, 

Thy peaceful home their dwelling made ; 

For prayer its holiest incense poured 
With morning light and evening shade. 

Warm hearts, elate with friendship, come ; 

For youth and age are gathering here — 
All wait to grasp thy friendly hand, 

And wish a happy, bright New Year. 

Thou seest thy God in every orb 
That decks the firmament of light, 

The fiery comet's onward march, 

The twinkling star and queen of night. 

Thou seest His smile in every flower ; 

His voice is on the rolling flood ; 
And the little birds, with silvery note, 

All, all proclaim their Maker, God. 

So may the light of science shine 
More brightly on our happy shore ; 

Thou wouldst diffuse its glorious rays, 
Till dark-eyed vice appear no more. 



A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 135 



TO AX ONLY DAUGHTER. 

Oh ! 't is a glorious hour ; trie golden sun 
Hath sunk in splendor to his mountain home ; 
Night's silvery queen, in beauty robed, rides forth, 
And shadowy beams play o'er the waters dark : 
The radiant stars the evening sky bedeck 
Like smiles of God, they seem so beautiful. 
E'en nature moves in meditation lost ; 
And, as I muse, a throng of memories sweet, 
Like cherub voices, thrill my soul with joy. 

I wake my lyre, beloved one, for thee. 

Thou art the idol of thy mother's heart ; 

Thy voice alone can stir its holiest depths ; 

Then be the solace of her lonely hours. 

Pure, peaceful pleasures cluster round thy home, 

And make thy life fair as a fairy tale. 

Fond brothers claim their only sister's smile ; 

Thou art the object of their tender love, 

The flower most precious to each manly heart. 

Cherish that love with pure affection's tears ; 

Weep in the night when gathering tempests lower, 

And Hope seems lost in desolation dark. 

Yes, Mary, be their star of morn and eve, 

And kindly win them from temptation's paths ; 

For dark-eyed Vice unnumbered snares doth spread, 

To lure to death the unsuspecting youth. 

And fragrant keep the blossoms of the heart 

By angel's deeds, which make the lovely blest ; 

So shalt thou live, honored and loved by all. 



1§6 A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 

Young spirits, glowing with affection's wealth, 
Shall throng to bless thee in declining age ; 
The lamp of Faith, that faileth not, be bright ; 
And when at night the awful cry is heard, 
Shalt thou go forth to join the marriage guests. 
We may not meet ; the future lights and shades 
By Providence are veiled from mortals' eyes : 
Remember me when pensive twilight paints, 
In softened hues, the green and smiling earth ; 
Oh ! breathe for me one earnest prayer to heaven. 



A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 137 



FRIENDSHIP'S WHISPER TO A BRIDE. 

There is joy in the glance of thy timid eye, 
Upraised to the face of thy mother dear ; 

There is joy with the friends who are gathering by, 
For the day-star of pleasure is shining here. 

There was joy on the brow of thy chosen one, 
As he looted on thy face at the bridal hour ; 

For the graces of holiest virtue alone 

Entranced his soul with their mystic power. 

Oh ! never may tears from those bright eyes fall, 
Nor thy voice be changed to a sadder tone, 

Nor earthly sorrows and cares enthrall 
A heart that seems destined for joy alone. 

? T is friendship's petition : far, far may it speed 

On ethereal wings to high regions away, 
And may love, hope, and pleasure — our life's choicest 
meed — 
Be the lot of the friend I am greeting to-day. 



7* 



138 A BUJSTCH OF PAISTSIES. 



GERMANY. 

Urtjtatrtj to JEt. S. SEUtff, JHuat'c Ezzzfyx in tfy N*fo*gorfc Institution 
for t%z mints. 

There is a charm all holy and pure, 

That comes o'er my soul when, at eve's soft hour, 
I think of the land where in gladness I dwelt, 

"When my spirits were buoyant in childhood's green 
bower. 
My heart-strings cling round thee, thou bright land of 

glee — 
Oh ! I cannot forget thee, beloved Germany. 

'T was pleasant, when radiant with stars looked the sky, 
And the peasant from toil to his cottage would come, 

With my brother to roam o'er the mountains afar, 
And hear the last echo of " Home, sweet home." 

'T is rapture to bless thee, thou bright land of glee — 

Oh ! I cannot forget thee, beloved Germany. 

Thou fair land of science, the poet's own theme, 
How oft would thy music, with charm all divine, 

Entrance my glad spirit with joy not its own ! 

The strains seemed of heaven, that rolled o'er the Rhine. 

Thou home of sweet music — oh, bright land of glee ! 

How could I forget thee, beloved Germany ? 

I dwell in a land where the olive branch sheds 
Its unction and glory, its peace-lighted smile, 

And the friends of my bosom are blessing my name, 
And the sweet strains of music my lone hours beguile ; 

Yet o'er my calm spirit come bright thoughts of thee — 

Oh ! I sigh to behold thee, beloved Germany. 



A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 139 

Perchance I may greet thee, dear land of my heart ; 

In gladness roam over thy mountains again, 
And view the bright scenes by my infancy loved, 

And hear the sweet voice of my brother again. 
Tn the sunset of life, ere my spirit is free, 
My last breath shall bless thee, beloved Germany. 



140 A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 



iUSINGS ON A JEWISH PASSOVER, 

Through the still air the hallelujah rose, 

And, like the sound of many waters sweet, 

On the charmed ear of the lone Christian fell. 

Great Judah's heart with her high theme was stirred, 

For holy recollections thronged the soul, 

And woke dead hope, and kindled zeal anew 

To swell the glories of the paschal day. 

Centuries have rolled their tide of years away, 
Yet fondly to their fathers' faith the children cling, 
Still weeping, praying for a brighter day, 
When Shiloh's presence shall the earth illume, 
And barren deserts bloom as Sharon's vale. 

Do dark eyes kindle with devotion's fire, 

Or holy tears some aged cheek bedew ? 

I see them not, and yet T dream 't is so. 

Father of Love, oh ! hear thy people's prayer, 

Who in suspense untold are languishing, 

For these are thine. When shall the day-star rise, 

And Israel know e'en now Messiah reigns, 

And own our Christ the mighty King of kings ? 



A BUNCH OF PANSIES, 141 



TO C. A. J. 

Bright-eyed Hope, life's star eternal, 

May its pure effulgent ray- 
Kindly chase each coming shadow 

From thy gentle heart away. 

May the voice of holy friendship 
To thy raptured bosom come, 

Bearing gems from love's own fountain, 
Gathered at the shrine of home. 

Wheresoe'er thy steps may wander, 
Still may radiant pleasure bright 

Cheer thee with its voice of gladness, 
Woo thee with its smile of light. 

Should the clouds obscure thy morning, 
And thy path be darkly drear, 

May the touch of kind affection 
Wipe away each anguished tear, 

So, dear friend, may fadeless flowers, 
Fragrant from the bowers of heaven, 

Fill thy soul with deathless beauty 
Till life's golden chord be riven. 



142 A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 



OUR LAST RESTING-PLACE. 

Thoughts after returning from a visit to Trinity Cemetery, a lot 
in which was presented by the Vestry of Trinity Church to the 
Institution for the Blind. 

The anthem of life hath a sacred chord 

That melteth our hearts in love ; 
Its music in heaven seraphic was heard, 
And borne from thence was a soothing word : 

" My saints shall be gathered above. 

" They who have sorrowed and loved on earth, 
In friendship that would not part, 
Shall taste the bliss of a holy birth, 
Celestial joys of surpassing worth 
Eeserved for the pure in heart." 

Consoling thought ! when the heaving tide 

Of life rolls out, we shall sink to rest; 
We, who in lessons and pleasures vied, 
Shall be sleeping together side by side, 

Where the spring-birds chant from their nest. 

For the birds will come in the time of flowers 

And warble their notes away ; 
Oh ! 't is not death from this world of ours 
To look on those green and fadeless bowers 

In the realms of eternal day. 



A BUNCH OF PANSIES. 143 

When " ashes to ashes and dust to dust ! " 

Is heard through the stilly air, 
We, who reposed in the Lord our trust, 
When the trump shall sound for the wise and just, 

Shall look on our Saviour there. 

Shall we know each other in that dear home — 

We who are sightless here ? 
This blessed thought in my dreams will come : 
Tn the peaceful shade of the sacred dome, 

We shall know, ay, know each other there. 



